a story's a story, no matter how small
by airbefore
Summary: A collection of unrelated ficlets.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

**AN:** I've set myself a challenge of writing at least one ficlet a week - a complete story in less than 500 words. I figured I'd keep them all together for easy reference. Some of them will have a point, other will just be little bits of fluff. Either way, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

The sand is hot and loose under her bare feet. It trickles into the spaces between her toes as she sinks down, her body melting under the blazing midday sun. Kate tips her face up and lets the warm island breeze rush over her cheeks, ruffle through her hair. Fat, white clouds float happily across the sky; she watches them drift and morph, a smile pulling at her lips. She used to spend hours sprawled across the grass with her mother, watching the clouds weave across the summer sky and picking out random shapes, making up ridiculous stories about fluffy bunnies jumping over giant mushrooms in a sea of melting ice cream. Her eyes slip shut as she leans back against the sloping dune, allows her mind to drift along with the clouds.

The graceful arc of the sun is her only indication of the passing time. She left her watch in New York, her phone buried deep within her suitcase. This vacation was his idea but she's flung herself into it wholeheartedly, dedicated all her efforts into making certain that he knows that she's here with him one hundred percent. That there's no place else she'd rather be.

He's wearing her out with adventures but she can't bring herself to tell him, not when he looks at her with such uninhibited joy scribbled in the lines around his eyes. She hasn't seen him so free, unencumbered by fear and longing, in over a year and she'll be damned if she's going to let anything ruin it.

The light filtering through her dark tinted sunglasses and closed eyelids dims and she grins, holding a hand out into the thick air, fingers wiggling. Sand scatters, abrading her bare stomach and legs, as he plops down next to her, his hand warm against hers.

"You found me."

"Were you hiding? 'Cause if so we really need to work on your evasion skills, Beckett."

"Not hiding," she laughs, bright and airy. "Just relaxing. " She turns her head to look at him, squinting against the blinding sunlight. "Is it time for the tour?"

Castle shakes his head and he leans back, stretches his body out next to hers on the sand. "I canceled it."

"You've been going on about seeing lava up close for days, Castle."

"There are other tours," he shrugs, pushing sand up into his ears. "Right now, I'd rather watch the clouds."

"Why?"

His fingers tighten between hers and Kate can see the lines radiating out from the edges of his sunglasses as he grins and points his face toward the sky.

"Everyone needs to relax sometimes, Beckett."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: This was written about a month before 5x03. I'm apparently kinda psychic?

* * *

"I really want to kiss you right now."

His voice is barely a whisper brushing hotly over her right ear and she can't stop the involuntary list of her body. She sways in his direction, the magnetized heat of his chest reeling her in. Her fingers clench around the ceramic coffee cup, burning with the desire to reach out and touch him. He props his hip against the counter and stares at her profile, too close for work but not nearly close enough for all the things she wants to do to him.

"I want to feel your body pressed against mine," he continues in a low tone, his words smooth and heavy. "I want to kiss you until you can't breathe, until your lips are red and swollen."

She mutters his name, a warning and a plea. Six months and he still affects her violently, just the mere thought of his hands and lips on her body enough to leave her wet and aching in the middle of the break room.

"I want to peel your shirt off and feel the way your muscles jump in anticipation. I want," he leans closer, the hem of his jacket skimming against her hip, "to tease you until you beg me to stop, to just_ touch_ you already."

His pinky finger brushes along her wrist and she jumps, lukewarm coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug. She brings her coffee soaked thumb to her mouth and sucks it between her lips, tongue swirling over the rough pad. He groans softly, dark and full of want, and her stomach churns with the need to hear it again, to watch his face tense in pleasure as she rises above him. Peering out through the half open blinds, she quickly scans the mostly deserted bullpen for signs of surveillance.

Confident that they're not being watched, Kate twists her torso and wraps her fingers around the lapel of his jacket, pushes her chest up against his. She grazes his chin with the soft edge of her lower lip, nips sharply at his jaw. His hands fist at her waist when she slicks her tongue over his lips, swallows his hungry moan. His body surges against hers and she jerks away, straightening her shirt and moving toward the door as he stares after her, slack jawed and starry eyed.

Chuckling at his expression, Kate tosses back over her shoulder as she exits the room, "Don't be so certain that _I'd _be the one doing the begging, Castle."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** My post ep for 5x03, I guess.

* * *

He moves his pity party into his office after the third time his mother passes by and mutters a sad _Oh, kiddo_, silk sleeves swirling. He just needs a little while to process. He's known this day was coming for years but it's always just been a hypothetical. A someday. But someday has become_ today_ and he has to find a way to deal with that. With a sigh, Castle cracks open his laptop and pulls up a blank document, lets the words flow. It's not a story he'll ever share or publish, it's probably something he'll never even reread. It's an emotional purge, an attempt to come to terms with the idea that his daughter is gone, that his baby bird has left the nest.

He's eight hundred words in when his phone rings, Beckett's shy grin filling up his screen. He smiles at the phone, a ridiculous habit that he really needs to break if they're going to have a prayer of keeping this thing under wraps, and answers, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm pathetic."

She laughs and he feels lighter, little bits of his sadness dispersing with the vibrations of her mirth. "I can't refute that statement outright so I'm gonna need specifics, Castle."

"I'm sitting in my office, writing a sad story about anthropomorphic birds that would make Walt Disney cringe and wearing a gold medal I gave Alexis when she was five." He pauses, drags a hand over his chest, fingers toying with the soft blue ribbon, waiting for her to respond, to toss off some sarcastic retort that will break him out of this stupor. Seconds tick by in silence. "Kate?"

"You're not pathetic," she says, her voice so soft that his heart breaks all over again. "You're a dad."

Oh, he loves her. Loves the way she believes in him, trusts him. How her eyes soften when he brings her coffee, how she sleeps with her hand over his heart, claiming and protecting. He loves her and it swirls in his chest, twining around the holes and wounds, stitching him back together from the inside. It's not the same. It can't and won't ever be the same but maybe that's okay.

"Are you still at work?" The need to see her wells up, pushes him out of the chair, sends him scrambling for his keys.

"No, I left a while ago."

"Where are you? I -"

Her steady exhalations fill his ear for a moment and he breathes with her, tries to calm his racing heart.

"I'm downstairs. In my car."

"Why?"

"I wanted to see you."

"No," he laughs, the cheap plastic medal bouncing against his ribs, "I mean why are you down there and not up here?"

"I didn't want to assume. I know you've had a long day and I didn't know if-"

"Come upstairs." She sighs and he closes his eyes, imagines the contented curve of her lips, the crinkle of her eyes. "And Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"Always assume."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **I just woke up with this in my head. I have no idea where it came from but I couldn't go back to sleep without getting it out. I apologize in advance.

* * *

She wears blue to his funeral.

Her uniform is thick and stiff, the industrial wool heavy on her skin. The band of her hat cuts into her forehead as she stands at the foot of his casket, watches a sobbing Alexis accept the honorary flag with trembling hands. Her own gloved hands clench tightly at her side, the urge to run, to put as much distance between herself and this scene as possible surging through her tightly coiled muscles.

She doesn't speak; couldn't if she wanted. Words haven't come in days, her voice muted alongside his. Her heart beats out a mournful arrhythmia, skipping beats when she thinks about his face. About the shape of his hands and the way he made her feel precious and revered. About the way he'd slowly slipped away from her, an apology swimming in his glassy eyes.

He knew. He knew what she refused to accept, her body hunched over his, the sun melting the asphalt beneath them back down to a sticky tar as she tried desperately to stem the flow, to plug the hole in his chest with the weight of her body and the force of her love. She'd batted away his last act of love and compassion with a shake of her head, her too small hands pressed futilely to his once white shirt. He'd tried so hard to say goodbye.

She wishes she'd listened.

Her left hand lifts to her chest, fingers digging into the scratchy material, searching for the shape of the ring that rests heavily under her jacket. It's familiar but different; the diamond is bigger, the band platinum instead of gold. She'd found in his dresser, her hand brushing over the velvet box while searching for his favorite socks, the blue ones with the little winged typewriters. Her ring finger tingles with the phantom weight it will never bear.

She'd had no idea he was going to ask.

She would have said yes.

The mourners disperse, pulling away in cars as dark as their clothes, and she remains, her feet rooted to the brittle brown grass as the groundsmen start their work. She watches as they dismantle the podium, roll up the scratchy green carpets, their brows glistening with sweat. A soft hand lands on her arm when the mound of dirt is halfway gone, the dull thud of soil against wood echoing in her ears.

"Come on, darling," Martha whispers, the scent of her flowery perfume making Kate's stomach churn. "You don't need to watch this."

Kate lets the older woman thread their fingers but resists her pull, her eyes fixed on the slowly filling hole.

He left her but she won't do the same.


	5. Chapter 5

Oh, look, I'm already cheating with the word limit. I'm have no self control.

Pure fluff. Figured it was needed after the last one.

* * *

Her foot is warm in his hand, toes curling under against the hard press of his thumb. She hums when he hits a spot at the apex of her arch, the muscle tense from ten hours spent on her feet, chasing down leads in four inch heels.

"That's good?"

"Mmm."

"Use your words, Beckett," he teases, grinning as she gives him a half hearted eyeroll from behind her glass of wine.

"All talked out," she mumbles, the glass clinking against the coffee table as her head thumps against the arm of the couch. He loves her like this, relaxed and content, her legs tossed across his lap, his own personal blanket of Beckett. "You talk."

"What do you want me to talk about?"

"Whatever." She lifts a hand off her stomach, waves it lazily through the air. "Surprise me."

"You remember what happened the last time you said that to me, right?"

Kate cracks open an eye and stares him down and he tries so hard not to grin but her exhausted glare is immensely adorable and he feels his lips tilting, stretching across the bow of his teeth.

"Okay, a story then," he laughs, running his fingers over the top of her foot, slipping up under the hem of her pants to circle the bony jut of her ankle. "Have I ever told you about the time I spent two hundred dollars tracking down Alexis' lost copy of the third Harry Potter book?"

Her eyes don't open as she laughs, her hair crinkling against the leather of the couch as she shakes her head. Castle switches to her other foot, eyes trained on her face, watching the way her lips twitch and part, a soft sigh resting on her tongue.

"She was ten and fully ensconced in her Harry Potter phase. There were only five books at the time and she read them in constant rotation, never went anywhere without at least one of them," he says, the memories rolling easily off his tongue. "I'd just gotten back from one of my mother's more disastrous plays and found her sitting on the stairs, sobbing, her nightgown pulled down over her knees." Kate hums, her body sinking further into the couch as her consciousness starts to fade.

"She'd left the book in a cab while she was out with one of her friends and was inconsolable. She was so mad at herself for being irresponsible and not having more respect for her books." He chuckles softly and drops his head back, continues telling his story to the ceiling. "I told her we'd get a new copy but she refused. Said she didn't deserve to have a new copy if she couldn't manage to hang on to the old one. She cried herself to sleep that night and it broke my heart. So the next day I called her friend's mom and found out what cab company they'd used and then spent the afternoon on the phone, talking to dispatcher after dispatcher, trying to find her book."

His hands drift up her calves, smoothing over the soft material of her slacks in time to the cadence of his words, the story playing vividly in his mind. He remembers giving up on the phone and pulling on his coat, heading out in the cold February afternoon with a wad of cash in his pocket, determined to find the book, to mend his little girl's broken heart. It took him seven cabs and one incredibly uncomfortable fan encounter but he succeeded, found the book tucked under the seat of a battered old cab, the cover bent and scuffed. He'd straightened it out as best as he could, left it on the foot of her bed, watched with anticipation as she trudged upstairs after school, her little shoulders sagging with a weight far too heavy for her years. The peeling squeal of joy echoes in his mind and he smiles, heart swelling at the memory.

"You're an amazing dad." The quiet words startle him and he jerks upright, finds her staring at him with soft, sleepy eyes.

"I thought you were asleep."

"And miss a story like that?" Kate sits up slowly, her hand warm on the base of his neck as she pulls him in for a long, gentle kiss. She brushes her nose along his jaw, eyelashes tickling his cheek. "Never."


	6. Chapter 6

He wakes to feel of her fingers skimming through his hair, her breath washing over his cheek, the scent of peppermint lingering in the air. The sun has barely risen, the room cast in a rose tinted haze as he pries one eye open, tries to focus on her face.

"Hey," she whispers, a smile peeking through in her voice, "I just wanted to see how you're feeling before I go." Her hand slides from his temple to his forehead, long fingers pressing gently against his flushed skin. "You're still pretty warm."

"Because you made me sleep under five layers of blankets while wearing a sweatsuit and wool socks," he croaks, throat aching and raw. He catches her wrist when she moves to grab the thermometer from the nightstand, tries not to let the vertigo show in his eyes as he shakes his head at her. "I'm fine, Beckett."

She glares down at him, aiming the thermometer at his closed lips. "Open."

He obeys, a sigh trapped in his congested chest. Kate slides the thermometer under his tongue and sits up, her blue button down bunched around her torso. "You know, I alway assumed you'd milk this kind of situation." He raises an eyebrow at her, fights back a shiver. "You haven't made a single naughty nurse joke. Frankly, I'm concerned."

His chuckle turns into a hacking cough, the thermometer bouncing off his teeth. Kate's face melts from amusement to concern in an instant, her arms wrapping around his chest, tugging him up. The fit subsides and she helps him prop himself up against the headboard, his muscles burning with the effort. She pulls the thermometer out of his mouth when it beeps, her brow furrowed as she stares at the digital readout.

"A hundred point six."

"I always knew I was hot." Her fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, worry etched across her face. "Kate, it's just the flu. I'm fine." He points at the nightstand, the top overflowing with the vast assortment of over the counter remedies she'd brought over two days before, ignoring his protests and assertions that was fine, was in perfect health. She'd taken one look at him, curled up on the couch, pale faced and shivering, and had ordered him to bed with a stern voice and a withering glare. "I have an entire drugstore at my fingertips and a refrigerator full of Gatorade. Go to work."

Her fingers flutter over his cheek, light and cool. "I don't want to leave you."

The tenderness in her voice makes his heart ache, sends overheated blood slamming through his already pounding head. "I know. But you have to."

She sighs, hand sliding down to rest over his heart. "You'll call me if you need anything?"

"I promise."

"Okay." He closes his eyes as her lips slide over his cheek, soft and damp. "I'll check on you in a little while. Love you."

"Me too," he mumbles, sleep tugging at him. The bed shifts as she stands, her hand sliding slowly across his chest. He listens to her heels click on the hardwood floor, calls out when he thinks she's almost gone. "Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't think I'm gonna forget that little naughty nurse comment. I'm sick, not delirious."

He nods off with the sound of her laughter echoing in his ears.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **Since I'm clearly incapable of sticking to my own rules, we have another one over 500 words. I think I might just bump the limit up to 1,000. I'm a rebel like that.

* * *

She's worked sixty of the past seventy-two hours, hasn't left the precinct in twelve. The team caught a triple homicide on Wednesday and she's been running non-stop, living on the take out Castle keeps having delivered and the stash of chocolate he hid in the bottom left drawer of her desk. She's exhausted and strung out, more coffee in her veins than blood, and all she wants is to solve this damn thing and go home; take the world's longest bath and then drag him into her bed and not come out for a week.

"Hey," his voice is soft and she turns to look at him, eyes catching on the shadows of short stubble adorning his jaw and cheeks. She wants to pull him close, feel the scratch and burn of it across her neck and chest, his tongue soothing the shallow scrapes as he presses her onto the mountain of files scattered over the table. Her gaze flicks to his lips, the lines around his mouth lengthening as his smiles at her. "You okay? Need anything?"

"You."

It slips out unbidden, her tongue loose with delirium and deprivation. His smile morphs from caring to smug in the half second it takes her to realize what she just said, her cheeks staining pink at the inadvertent admission. She shouldn't be embarrassed by this. They've been together for months, have become intimately acquainted with each others bodies and beds. They've spent long nights laughing and talking, naked and sated, curled so completely around one another as to render the concept of space moot. He's watched her sleep and shower, seen her sick and whiny, has held her hand while she cried and rubbed her feet while she talked to her father on the phone for an hour. And yet she still chokes and flushes at the admission that she needs him. Not that she wants him; they both have ample evidence of that. Need. She _needs_ him and the thought steals her breath and stops her heart, makes her body ache, muscles burning with the old desire to run, to put as much distance between herself and her need as she possibly can. Need leads to hurt, to heartache. Need leads to twelve year quests for revenge and a bullet in the chest. Need leads to hanging from a roof by her fingertips, his face painted across her mind.

Need leads to passion and love, her body soaked through with rain and certainty.

Need leads to him.

"And what exactly do you need from me, Detective?" He waggles his eyebrows, his voice smug but compassion glimmering in his eyes. The panic is radiating off her body and there's no way he can't feel it; his choice to ignore it, to lighten the mood with a leer and a growl makes her love him all the more. He knows her. Knows how to wind her up, take her higher than she's ever been. He knows when to push and when to let it rest. Somehow, he has faith in her, trusts that she'll open to him when she's ready. It continually amazes her, this faith of his; makes her feel overwhelmed and unprepared. Makes her want to be the person he sees, the one he loves without condition. "Coffee? Food? Witty repartee?" He looks around the room dramatically and drops his voice, the question rumbling low in his chest. "Sex?"

Kate laughs and the shadows of worry in his eyes recede, lost to the bright light of his happiness at having succeeded in defusing the tension. She leans closer to him, her hand skimming up his chest, the cap of her highlighter brushing over the thick cords of his neck as she threads her fingers through the fine hair at the base of his skull. He sucks in a surprised gasp when she leans in and seals her mouth to his, tries to say it all with the press of her lips and the slide of her tongue. He's breathless when she pulls away, the fingers of his free hand rising to rest lightly on his lips, stars shimmering in his eyes.

"No," she whispers, turning her attention back to the file spread open on the table, "just need you."


	8. Chapter 8

She loves his hands. How they feel on her body, smoothing over her thighs and stomach, pulling her close and warming her skin. The way her shoulders fit perfectly into his cupped palms, fingers pressed against the the hard jut of her scapulae. She loves to watch the way he moves them when he talks, sweeping his words along with a theatricality that can only be hereditary. She loves to listen as he types, the keystrokes firm and sure, the story of them pouring from the tips of his fingers.

She loves the way he loves her, deeply and without reservation. How it feels to wake up in his arms, secure and safe, her body warmed by the heat of his. He pulls her out of herself with his wry observations, lightens the load she carries with a well-timed joke or inappropriate innuendo. She loves the way he's almost shy at times, hiding behind his boyish charm when he's nervous, his eyes shining with poorly hidden need as he patiently waits for her to return his love, to speak the words he waited so long to hear. She loves the way he scooped her off her feet the first time she said it, a joyous laugh bellowing out of his lungs.

She loves his chest, the broad expanse of it. How it dwarfs her, makes her feel tiny and precious. The way his heart thunders under her hands as he claims her, her name rumbling around inside the cage of his ribs. The soft pattern of his breathing, deep and contented, when she rests her head on him, her body curled into the cove of his side.

She loves the way they work together, a partnership in as true a sense as she can imagine. He challenges her; makes her dig deeper and work harder. The victories are never really victories in her line of work but the look of pride he wears when they solve a case almost makes her feel like they are. He understands why she does it, stands by her side no matter the cost. He loves her job as almost as much as she does and she loves him for that too.

She loves his mouth. The soft pout of his bottom lip, how it slips so easily between her own. The way he breaks her apart with the glide of his tongue and pieces her back together with the beauty of his words.

She loves him. His generous heart and quick mind. His endless capacity for compassion and forgiveness. She loves his arms, his coffee, the way he hums in the shower. How he looks at her like she's the only woman he's ever wanted, ever loved, and she finds herself almost believing it even though she knows differently.

She needs him to look at her like that now. Needs him to open his eyes and smile, let the sound of his voice drown out the steady beeps of the heart monitor, the mechanical click of the machines that stand sentinel around his bed. Needs to feel his limp fingers tighten around hers, the life coming back into his too still body.

She loves him.

She needs him to live.


	9. Chapter 9

It's like a dam has been broken.

She spent so much time repressing her desire for him, pretending that she didn't imagine the burn of his hands and the glide of his lips and how his body would feel pressed against hers, building up walls to keep the thoughts of him at bay. So many nights tangled in her own sheets as the levees gave way and she was forced to swallow down the broken syllables of his name while she touched herself, her fingers too slim and lithe, palms too familiar. She wanted him from the start. From the moment he looked up at her with those bright, laughing eyes, cheeks overrun with stubble, and invited her to spank him, she knew. Knew she'd eventually fall into his bed, give in to her want.

She didn't know it'd be like this though. She had no idea that once she'd had him - knew what it was like to be kissed by him, to feel the bulk of his body pressing her down into the mattress, to watch his face as he tipped over the edge with her name on his tongue - that the desire would only increase. That want would become _need_. That the idea of going a day without his lips and his arms, his palms branded to the swell of her hips, would make her stomach churn, her muscles ache.

It's an addiction, she thinks. In less than two months, she's become addicted to him. To the rough timbre of his voice and the broad expanse of his chest. The way his fingertips spark like flint against the hard ridges of her bones, sink into the fleshy dips of her curves. How he covers her, fills her, blurs the edges of her world with the glide of his tongue and the thrust of his hips.

He laughs when she follows him into the shower, calls her insatiable as he presses her up against the slick tile, sinks his teeth into the soft curve of her shoulder. He gasps when she brushes the back of her hand over him in the break room, her name a strangled rasp in his throat. His moan echoes in the cave of her open mouth when she pushes him up against the wall in a dark corner of his bar, his hands wrapping around her thighs as she climbs his body, desperate to be closer.

The more she has, the more she wants. It's never enough. There's never enough of his skin, his mouth, his warmth. She wants him constantly; it burns in her veins, an eternal flame incinerating her from the inside. She crumbles when he touches her, the ashes of her self-control scattering in the wake of his hot breath over her neck.

Sometimes the fear creeps in, the worry that she's giving him too much, revealing secrets with the arch of her back and the wanton twist of her hips. But when she finds him staring at her with hunger in his eyes, when she feels his feral growl vibrate against the delicate skin of her inner thigh, when his body surges into hers, fast and rough and _so fucking good_ - she knows it doesn't matter. He's ruined her with his mouth and his hands and his love. But it's okay.

She's ruined him too.


	10. Chapter 10

She thinks he's a late riser. Thinks that in all the time they've been together, months now, that he's only woken before her a handful of times. She'd kill him if she knew the truth.

He wakes before her regularly. Years of being a single parent have permanently altered his body clock, his subconscious attuned to the sound of little feet clambering down the stairs. He continued to rise early long after Alexis had become self-sufficient, habit and the desire to spend time with his kid pulling him out of bed at six on weekday mornings. He'd shuffle into the kitchen, bleary eyed and disheveled, smiling at the sight of Alexis sitting at the bar, books and breakfast spread out before her. She'd started making his coffee the year she was thirteen; he'd balked loudly the first time he'd come around the corner and seen her bringing a cup of the steaming liquid to her mouth, had stood there gaping as she'd admitted with laughter shining in her eyes that she'd been sneaking mugs of his precious Kona blend for years.

Now, though, his daughter is gone, her clothes and her books piled into her dorm room, monkey bunky hidden in her trunk. He has no reason to rise with the sun anymore but he does, his brain kicking over into consciousness at six like clockwork. Usually he forces himself back to sleep, tries to reclaim some of the hours he's lost over the past eighteen years. But sometimes -

Sometimes he waits.

Kate is slow to wake; she takes her time, breathing changing from slow and deep to quick and shallow over the course of half an hour. She snuffles and scrubs at her face, fighting the process with the adorable petulance of a child. Her legs twitch and her fingers curl under, nails biting into the bare skin of his chest. He listens, keeps his face and body perfectly still. Because if he waits long enough it happens.

Her knee presses into his thigh and he tries hard not to smile, not to let his lips quirk up in anticipation of what's coming. Cool fingers slide over his ribs and down his side, a long slow sweep that pulls goose bumps up on his skin, makes him ache to let go of the charade and roll into her, cradle himself between her thighs and claim her mouth. She pushes up on one elbow and the tips of her hair whisper across his bare shoulder as her fingers slide back up his chest, dance along the curve of his jaw. She traces over his nose and chin, sweeps her thumb along the ridge of his brow before dipping into the shallow dent at his temple.

Kate Beckett likes to watch him sleep.

The thought makes him want to giggle like a schoolgirl, elation bubbling up inside his chest. She's surprisingly sentimental and it delights him to no end. She keeps little mementos of their relationship - a playbill from the first show they saw together, the card that came with the first I'm-Sorry-I-Was-A-Giant-Jackass bouquet he'd sent her, the napkin where he'd scribbled out a fairly explicit encounter between Nikki and Rook one night when he got bored watching her do paperwork. His smile almost slips out at the thought of that one; they'd had a rather enjoyable evening recreating the contents of that napkin.

He knows she's about to get up when her nose brushes across his cheek, her lips, soft and dry, skimming along behind, dragging over his stubble. She plants a solid kiss under his left ear, tongue darting for just a second.

"I love you."

His eyes fly open and he's over her in a flash, looking down into her smiling face.

"Morning, you big faker," she laughs, swatting at his chest. He swoops down claims her lips, swallowing the rest of her giggles. Her legs lift and hook over the backs of thighs and she sighs into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his chest and pulling him down.

Breathless, he pulls back and stares down at her with a look he knows must be part awe, part disbelief. "You knew?"

"I've always known you were faking it." She rolls her eyes. "For the son of a famous actress, you really have _no_ skills."

"I'll show you skills," he grumbles, rolling his hips against her, grinning when her eyes flutter closed. He drops his head and runs his lips up the column of her throat, stopping next to her ear. "I hope you're ready, Beckett. The combination of morning sex and _I love you_ sex has been known to maim lesser mortals."

Her legs drop and her arms tighten around his chest and suddenly he's on his back looking up at her smirking face and tousled hair.

"Don't worry, Castle. I'll go easy on you."


	11. Chapter 11

He runs into her at Starbucks.

"Castle."

"Hey."

It's awkward. So incredibly awkward. He hasn't seen her in months. She looks good in her high heeled boots and leather jacket, her hair two shades darker and cascading over her shoulders. He wants to reach out and touch her, make sure she's real. He's imagined this scenario a thousand times, come up with a hundred different things he would say to her if he had the chance. Tell her he was sorry, ask why she didn't leave a note. He's dreamed about yelling at her more than once, screaming until he was red in the face, demanding to know how in the hell she could just give up on them after everything they went through.

"How've you been?"

He cringes at the way the words sound, desperate and needy. He's not supposed to care anymore.

And still.

"Okay. Just, you know. Working." She won't meet his eye, her gaze fixed at some random point just past his left ear. "And you? How are Martha and Alexis?"

"They're good. Mother is busy with her acting school. Alexis is graduating next month, got accepted to Harvard Law." Her fingers tighten around her cup, thumbnail scraping over the cardboard sleeve in that way that used to drive him insane. She'd always huff when he reached out and plucked the cup from her hands, making a show of sliding the sleeve off and throwing it away. He wonders how she'd react if he tried that now. "How's Esposito?"

"He's -" She falters, her free hand rising to rest on her flat stomach. Her stomach that would have been rounded and inhibiting her daily life by now if he had only been just a few seconds faster. If only he'd been better. "He's okay. Seeing a therapist, trying to deal with it."

"And Jenny?"

Kate smiles softly, her eyes shimmering. "The baby keeps her going." In a tiny voice, she continues, "She asked me to be his godmother. Thought it would help."

His heart stumbles. "Does it?"

"Sometimes." She finally looks him in the eye. "But not really. Nothing really helps, Castle."

"Kate -" He takes a step forward, his hands lifting toward her.

"Hey, babe. You ready to go?"

A tall man with a chiseled jaw strides up, throws an arm over her shoulder. Castle just stares at her, watches the pity and fear flash through her eyes. She's on a date.

She's dating.

His blood stops flowing and he feels his knees lock, body swaying perilously on the spot. He cannot pass out in the middle of Starbucks. Castle tears his eyes away from Kate, examines the man standing next to her. He's tall and handsome, with a kind face and an easy smile. He obviously has no idea what he's standing in the middle of, can't feel the palpable tension spanning the distance between them. His hand comes out, palm broad and calloused, and Castle takes it, forces himself not to squeeze until he feels bones cracking.

"Jonathan Manning."

"Rick Castle."

Recognition sparks in the man's eyes and Castle takes a small measure of comfort in that. At least he knows. At least she doesn't pretend like it never happened.

Like _they_ never happened.

"We should go," Kate says, an apology in her voice. "It was good to see you."

It's a lie and they both know it.

"Yeah, you too."

"Tell Alexis I said congratulations."

"I will."

He watches them walk out, Jonathan pulling Kate close to his side as the chilly December air swirls around them. Castle finishes his coffee with a shaking hand, his stomach rebelling against the intrusion. He tosses the cup and pulls out his gloves, tugging them on quickly. He just needs to get out. The flash of gold on his left hand catches his attention and he swallows back the dry sob, yanks his glove on savagely. He'll take it off when he gets home.

Put it in the box next to hers.


	12. Chapter 12

"Will you - " Her voice is thin and watery, the words coming out haltingly. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Are you sure?"

There's a long pause.

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll stay."

It takes a while, her breath slowing gradually, the spaces between inhalations lengthening as she surrenders to the emotional toll of the day. Night creeps in from the corners of the room, the shadows growing deeper and darker with each passing minute. She twitches in her sleep, her muscles contracting and releasing at random. The sliver of amber light slicing across the hardwood floor flickers and Kate looks up, sees him standing in the doorway.

"She asleep?"

"Yeah."

Castle pushes the door open and steps quietly into the room, the cuffs of his pajama pants dragging around his heels. Alexis mumbles in her sleep and rolls over, curling in on herself; Kate smoothes her hand over the young woman's hair, humming softly in the back of her throat. He kneels down next to the bed and rests his head against Kate's stomach as he stares at his heartbroken daughter.

"I wish I could fix it," he murmurs and Kate wraps her hand around the back of his head, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. "I hate seeing her like this."

"I know," Kate replies softly. "But you can't. All we can do is be here and help her through it."

"I want to kill him."

"Me too."

They sit in silence, watching his daughter sleep peacefully, her chest rising and falling steadily. Castle sighs and braces his hands on the edge of the bed, groaning quietly as he pushes himself up. Kate looks at him questioningly and he holds out a hand.

"Come on. She'll be embarrassed if she wakes up with us both hovering over her."

She takes his hand and lets him pull her off the bed and into his chest, his arms wrapping around her waist. "Thank you," he whispers, his lips pressed against her temple.

"For what?"

"For taking care of her. For being someone she can trust." His arms tighten slightly. "For wanting to kill the bastard that broke her heart just as much as I do."

"If anyone could get away with it, it'd be us."

Castle chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead before dropping his arms and stepping back. He twines their fingers and starts to walk backward out of the room, his eyes trained over her shoulder at the figure of his sleeping daughter. A flash of light catches in the corner of her eyes and Kate turns her head, sees the ring sitting on the nightstand.

"Do you think we should -" She nods toward the wall. "I don't want it to be the first thing she sees when she wakes up."

"Leave it," he responds. "It'll hurt but she left it there for a reason."

Kate pulls the door closed and they make their way downstairs, hips and shoulders bumping as they lean into each other. He crawls into the bed first and she slips in next to him, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck as his fingers twist lazily through her hair. Her hand rests on his chest, fingers curling into the soft blue cotton of his t-shirt, her own rings glinting dimly in the moonlight.

"She'll be okay." She's not sure if he's saying it for her benefit or his own but she nods anyway, her lips brushing lightly over his skin. "We'll get her through this."

"Yeah, Castle," she assures him as she starts to nod off, the steady pound of his heart under her ear pulling her under swiftly. "We will."


	13. Chapter 13

"Really?" He leans back against the couch, fingers gripping her waist.

"Yes, really." She cocks an eyebrow at him. "Were you expecting a different answer?"

He hesitates, wonders how honest he can be. She smiles at him, coy and happy, and his heart jumps, slamming merrily into his ribs. "Well, yeah," he confesses, relieved to see her grin only grown in response to his honesty. "I was at least expecting to have to convince you. I had a five point plan."

"A five point to plan to convince to me to move in with you?"

"Yes."

Kate laughs and twists in his lap until she's straddling him, her knees pressing hard against his hips, ass resting low on his thighs. "Tell me."

"I'd planned to start with the basics, appeal to your logic." He skates his hands over her thighs, dipping under the hem of her shorts, enjoying the way her muscles flex under his touch. "You know, pointing out that you practically almost live here already, that you have more clothes in the closet than I do. Mention how you haven't been to your apartment for more than thirty minutes at a time in over a month."

"All true," she hums, toying with the collar of his shirt, the pads of her fingers cool and soft against his neck. "And if logic failed?"

"Point two. Convenience. The loft is closer to both the precinct and your dad's place. Plus, you wouldn't have to go twenty blocks out of your way just because none of the ten pairs of boots you have here happen to be the ones you want to wear on a random Tuesday morning."

"You like those zip up black ones just a much as I do, Castle," she purrs, sliding further down into the cradle of his lap. Her hands move to the center of his chest, fingers deftly flicking open the buttons of his shirt. "Three?"

"Begging." She scoffs, her breath hot against his throat, nose brushing over the line of his jaw. "I'm not above it. Though it would have been very manly begging, I assure you."

"Mmm-hmm." Her lips feather over his cheek, tracing a damp path toward his left ear, as she pushes his shirt down around his elbows, hands trailing fire over his chest. "And when that inevitably failed?"

"Wine," he chokes, cupping her ass and tugging her closer. Her hips roll into him when he slips his fingers into the waist of her shorts, drawing random designs across the small of her back.

"Isn't that just a subcategory of the begging?"

"Not whine. Wine. I got a bottle of your favorite yesterday." Castle groans when her nails scrape over his stomach, tracing the line where his belt presses into his flesh. "It's in the kitchen."

"Plying me with alcohol merits an entire point of your plan?"

"It dovetails into five," he explains breathlessly, chasing her smiling mouth. She eludes him easily, her lips skimming over his briefly before she dips down to nip at his adam's apple.

"And what _is_ five?"

"Sex."

Her chest bounces off his as she laughs, the tips of her hair dancing over his skin. Castle catches her mouth, swallowing her surprised squeak as he twists to the side, pinning her body underneath his on the couch. A soft moan vibrates in her chest when his fingers crest the arc of her ribs, thumbs scraping under the band of her bra. Her legs unfold and then curl around his waist, pulling him down into the welcoming give of her hips.

"Sex, Castle? Really?"

"You've readily agreed to more than a few dubious ideas immediately following orgasms, Beckett." He bites at her bottom lip, dips his tongue into the dents left by his teeth. "Just playing the odds."

"Five points, culminating in sex, just to get me to move in?" Her eyes glitter as he stares down at her, nodding his head earnestly.

"You know me. I'm a planner."

Kate laughs and pulls him down for a scorching kiss, her body warm and arching under his. "In that case," she husks, her fingers reaching for the buckle on his belt, "I can't wait to see how many points are in your plan when you decide to propose."


	14. Chapter 14

He can't help but laugh when she comes running into her living room, a towel clutched around her chest and shampoo still clinging to her hair. Water drips steadily on the floor as she stands in the middle of the room, staring at him with an open mouth.

"What the hell, Castle?" Her voice is loud and forceful and he knows it's a more than slightly desperate attempt to distract them both from the music pouring out of her stereo.

"I never pegged you for a Hanson fan, Beckett."

"I can't leave you alone for twenty minutes without you snooping through my stuff?" Her righteous indignation is undercut by the bouncing beat of bubblegum pop and he laughs again, his whole body shaking with the force of it. "What the hell is so funny?"

Castle smiles and she glares at him, a clump of bubbles slipping from her hair and making a slow slide down her left shoulder. Wordlessly, he points at the speaker with one hand as he presses the little button on the dock with the other, the music getting louder, gibberish lyrics cutting through the crisp morning air. He bends his knees and wiggles his hips in a silly little dance that sends his robe fluttering around his calves, the ends of the belt swinging against his thighs. He can see her fighting back a smile, her lips pressed tightly together as he shimmies his way across the room, necking swaying wildly to the jumpy rhythm of the song.

Her laughter breaks free when he slips in the puddle spreading out around her feet and collides with the wall, a surprised grunt hanging on his lips. He bounces off the stones, hip and shoulder burning, and grabs her around the waist, the terry cloth towel damp and rough against his forearm.

"My pain is humorous to you?"

Kate nods at him, her eyes shining. "It is when it's karmic payback for mocking my music library."

"It's _Hanson_, Beckett. I'm obligated to mock." He trails a finger across the exposed skin at her collarbone, drawing a path through the evaporating water and drying soap. "Plus, you don't believe in karma."

"No, but you do which means I get to use it against you when it's convenient."

"You're mean."

"And you're a snoop." She swats at his chest, lips curling at the edges. "What have I told you about that?"

"That I can only poke around in your stuff with express permission and supervision. To be fair, though, I was just looking for something to listen to while I made breakfast." He nods over to the island, a mixing bowl and carton of eggs laid out on top. "So I wasn't _technically_ snooping. Plus, if you wanted to hide that, you should have named the playlist a little more creatively."

"'Happy' is a perfectly fine name for a playlist. And I wasn't hiding anything, I just didn't expect to be blasted out of the shower by nineties pop." Kate pries his arm off her waist and spins, walking toward the bathroom. "I'm going to finish my shower now."

He stares after her for a moment and then follows, picking his way carefully around the puddle while tugging at the belt tied around his waist. The shower curtain hangs half opens, water pummeling the buttery yellow tiles; he watches her climb into the tub and then follows, tugging the curtain closed behind himself, smiling when she leans back against his chest and sighs.

"So," he starts, reaching out for her body wash and pouring a generous pool onto the loofah she's holding out for him, "which one was your favorite? Isaac? Taylor? Please don't say Zach, though, because that's creepy."

Kate turns around and runs the soapy sponge over his chest, her voice full of laughter. "No, Castle, what's creepy is that you know their names."

Castle shrugs and pulls her closer, his hands roaming freely over the wet plane of her back, dipping down to coast over her ass and thigh. The song fades out as his mouth hits her neck, teeth scraping along the long column of soft skin. She groans against him as the song starts over, the strains of the happy guitar filling the tiny room.

"Did you have to put it on repeat?"

"Yes." He twists them and pushes her up against the wall, hand slipping down over her slick stomach. "Now come on, Beckett, let's defile some precious late nineties memories."


	15. Chapter 15

"How's Lanie?"

Kate drops down next to him on the couch, her body loose and buzzing with alcohol. Castle pulls her legs over his lap and she folds herself into his side, head resting heavily on his shoulder. His fingers slip under the hem of her pant leg, tracing gently over the sharp jut of her ankle.

"She's fine. Just needed to have a couple bottles of wine and a few hours of bitching about her luck with men."

"I thought it was going well with the fireman?"

"It was," Kate sighs, her fingers plucking at the buttons on his shirt, "until he said his ex-wife's name while they were in bed the other night."

"Oh, ouch," Castle hisses, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. "And you're not going to have to arrest her for murder?"

"No. She just broke up with him and told him to call her when he figures out what he wants."

"That is a surprisingly reasonable response."

"Yeah, well, then she called Espo, so -" Kate trails off, her train of thought lost to the hypnotic dip and twirl of his fingers over her side.

"Oh."

"Mmm-hmm. That's going to be fun for _all_ of us in about a week."

She lets herself drift, the buzz of the alcohol and the feel of his body making her warm and comfortable, her muscles and joints loose. The silence stretches between them and she revels in it, loves that they can have these moments where they sit quietly, simply enjoying be pleasure of being together. They're nine months into this and the excitement lingers, refuses to fade. Her heart still flips when he kisses her good morning, she still gets butterflies when he pulls her close and chants his love for her into the curve of her neck as he slowly peels off her clothes.

"Have you ever done that?"

"What?"

"Said the wrong name."

Her body tenses involuntarily at the memory, the embarrassment and pain of that night flooding through her. Castle tightens his hand around her waist, brushes a soft kiss over the top of her head. "You don't have to answer that. I was just thinking out loud."

Kate swallows hard, her fingers curling tightly into the front of his shirt, the buttons pressing hard into the palm of her hand. She can tell him this now. It's okay. She doesn't have to hide it anymore.

"Once," she whispers. He doesn't respond, just keeps sweeping his finger up and down her side, his other hand still caressing the curve of her ankle. "It was - It was the night we got back from L.A.; I was a mess." His chest and she turns her head, rubbing her cheek over his shoulder, the tip of her nose skimming along his neck. "Josh was at my apartment when I got back. He was pissed that I hadn't told him I was leaving. We fought and, like almost all our fights, it ended in sex."

Castle nods, the steady movement of his hands never ceasing. They'd settled their jealousy issues months ago during one long night of wine and talking. She'd told him about how she broke up with Tom for him, how much she hated seeing him with his ex-wife and actresses and flight attendants; he'd told her how it had hurt him so deeply to see her with Josh but that he had been willing to let her go if that was what would make her happy. They spent the wee hours of the morning absolving each other of their sins, their slick bodies rolling and sliding across his bed, against each other.

"Anyway, I said - I said the wrong name and then we ended up fighting more. That was pretty much the beginning of the end for us."

"He knew what you'd been through, what Royce meant to you," Castle whispers. "You were upset."

Kate leans back, finds him looking down at her with gentle compassion etched into the soft curve of his smile. She searches his face for a moment before pressing out a long sigh. He really doesn't know.

"It wasn't Royce." She forces herself to meet his eyes, wants him to see the truth written in hers. "It was you."

She feels the moment her words sink in, his fingers digging hard into her ribcage and clamping around her ankle, stopping the flow of blood to her left foot. "Me?"

"Yeah, Castle. You."

"Wh - why?"

"Do you really not know?" He shakes his head, mouth falling open as he stares at her. "Castle, I was in love with you. I was scared as hell but it was there. And everything we went through in L.A. - the way you helped me to find justice for Royce and peace for myself - I couldn't stop thinking about you. About what it would be like if I let my guard down and admitted how I felt. About how it would feel to be with you."

"I - I had no idea."

"Yeah," Kate sighs softly, her eyes falling away from his. "I was pretty good at hiding it."

"Kate."

"I know. We weren't ready. We needed the time. But -" she looks back up, feels the words pressing up her throat, scrambling to finally be free, "that night, Castle, I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so very badly."

He crushes her to his chest, claiming her lips roughly. She can feel his heart thundering against her ribs and breathes in deeply as her own picks up a matching rhythm, a frantic tattoo that drives her forward, pushes her into his lap.

"I wanted it to be me too," he pants between kisses, his breath hot against her skin. "So much."

"I know, Castle," she responds, her fingers working at the buttons on his shirt. "I know."


	16. Chapter 16

The edge of the hard plastic seat bites into her thighs as she waits for the nurses to bring him back to the room and she pushes herself back against the chair, lets her head connect sharply with the wall. The emergency room is oddly quiet, only the occasional squeak of sneakers on linoleum or the rattle of a passing gurney to distract her from her thoughts, the same two running through her head on a constant loop for over an hour.

He could have died.

She's going to kill him.

She told him to stay in the damn car, had allowed the earnest acquiescence in his voice to blind her to the defiance shining in his eyes. She should have known better. Should have known that he'd follow them the second he thought the coast was clear, that he'd try to be the damn hero and toss himself into the fray, no vest or badge or gun for protection. The doctors have assured them that he's going to be fine but her heart still beats erratically and she can't manage a full breath, the sound of his pained yell still echoing in her ears.

He's laughing when the nurse wheels him in a few minutes later, his smile loose and crooked. The nurse helps him into the bed, tells them the doctor will be along in a few minutes to go over the results of his x-rays and stitch up the deep cut on his forehead. Castle thanks him and turns eyes bright with painkillers on Beckett, lifting his left hand up out of his lap.

"Broken," he pouts, his tongue thick and slow. Two bands of bright white surgical tape hold his middle and ring fingers together, the latter swollen and blue. "Typing 's gonna be hard," he slurs as she grabs the bag of half melted ice from the tray and drops it on his lap, fighting the urge to roll her eyes when he yelps. "Tha's cold."

"Put it on your hand," she commands, dropping heavily against the back of the chair.

"Wha's wrong?" He stares at her dumbly while he fumbles with the ice, hissing when it hits the broken skin on the back of his hand. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"Try to rest, Castle." She won't look at him. Can't. The anger is the only thing holding her together right now and if she looks at him, sees the confused pout on his drugged face - She can't. "Just lay back and close your eyes until the doctor comes."

"No. Tell me why you're mad. Is it because I didn't stay in the car?" Kate stares at the closed door in silence, wills the doctor or a nurse or someone to come in and get him stitched up so she can get out of here. "I'm sorry I didn't stay in the car, Beckett. I promise to never do it again." She snorts. "I'll be good and listen to you from now on. No more getting out of the car. Cross my heart."

She finally turns to look at him, the anger rolling hot in her stomach. "Getting out of the car won't be a problem since you're never getting back _in_."

"Oh." His eyes screw up in confusion for moment before he grins. "Don't worry, Beckett, I'll take care of Gates." He smiles proudly, the dried blood on his cheek cracking, and Kate feels her fingers curling tightly, nails cutting into her palms. "I'll call Bob in the morning and -"

"Not Gates," she seethes, watching his smile fade into a perplexed frown. "Me. _My _decision. You're not coming back out in the field. You can work at the precinct all you want but everything else - you're done."

"Kate, come on, it was just -"

"No, Castle. _No_." She stands up and leans against the railing of the bed, her face just inches from his. She can still smell the river on him, the musky stink of the water clinging to his hair and skin, mixing with the metallic bite of his blood, and it makes her stomach churn, the panic pressing hard against her chest. "You could have fucking _died_, Rick." Her voice is low and harsh and she watches his head snap back, the reality sinking in. "You could have died and then I would've had to be the one to tell your daughter that her father is dead, that I wasn't able to protect him. I'm not doing that, Castle. I'm _not_ going to let you put me in the position to have tell Alexis that you're dead." She sucks in a shaky breath and swipes at the tear sliding down her cheek. "You're done.'

"Kate -"

The swoosh of the opening door cuts him off and the doctor strides in, a chart in his hand and a nurse on his heels. Kate drops back down into her chair and listens to the recitation of his injuries, the recommendations for a follow up with his personal physician, the instructions for his medication. Her left leg twitches as the adrenaline starts to slowly fade out of her system, lethargy and pain taking its place. She holds his uninjured hand in both of hers while the doctor cleans and closes the laceration on his forehead, her thumb running over his knuckles slowly. They bring him scrubs to wear home, his own clothes ruined by his fall into the river, and she helps him, holding him steady while he pulls on the loose pants and shirt. The green washes him out, makes his skin sallow and pale, and she chokes back the tears pressing in her throat, focusing instead on getting him in the wheelchair the nurse insists he has to use.

He's quiet in the car, cheek pressed into the seatbelt, temple resting against the window. The silence follows them upstairs, fills the shadows of his bedroom as she pushes him down onto the bed and arranges the pillows and blankets around him, pressing a pill and a glass of water into his hands before heading toward the bathroom.

Standing under the unrelenting spray of his shower, she rests her forehead on the cool tile and lets the tears fall freely, arms wrapped tightly around her middle, the scalding water washing away the grime and the anger. He could have died and there was nothing she could have done but stand there and watch it happen. The images won't stop flashing across her mind, a vicious cycle of memories that leave her shaking and gasping for air. Her skin is waterlogged by the time she calms herself down and gets out of the shower, pulling on shorts and one of his shirts, dragging his comb through the wet nest of her hair.

He's asleep when she crawls in next to him, her knees pressing into his thigh, upper body curled around his limp right arm. She presses her nose into his bicep and closes her eyes; tries to let the warmth of his presence slow her racing mind.

"I'm sorry."

She jumps as his voice fills the dark room, raspy and low. His hand closes around the outside of her thigh and he rolls his neck to look down at her, eyes heavy lidded and full of remorse.

"I'm sorry, Kate."

"I know," she whispers, her lips brushing over the sleeve of the scrub top. "I love you, Castle. You can't do that to me. Not now."

He nods and closes his eyes again, murmuring his love softly into the top of her head. The horrible, twisted images of the day fade into the background, lost to the steady beat of his heart under her hand and the hypnotic sweep of his thumb over her thigh. She drifts off to the sound of his soft snores, two thoughts left swirling in her mind.

He could have died.

But he didn't.


	17. Chapter 17

She's pressed between his body and the door, the brass handle digging into her hip as he kisses her, his lips light and playful over hers. His name floats out on a laugh, echoing back to her from the cavern of his mouth.

"You have to stop," she admonishes him weakly, her conviction flagging under the assault of his lips and tongue.

"Don't wanna stop," he breathes, pressing his hips firmly into her.

"We have to go."

"Which is exactly the reason I don't want to stop." His lips crawl across the line of her jaw, drift down to caress her neck. "If I stop then we leave and we go to work and I'm not allowed to kiss you at work so I think I'd rather just stay here and carry on with the kissing."

"Will you stop if I promise to let you grope me in the elevator?"

His hands go loose against her hips and his head pops up, eyes shining brightly. "Really?"

"No," she laughs, pushing him off her easily and walking toward the living room. "You're so gullible, Castle. That's what - The fifth time you've fallen for that?" She hears him moving along behind her, his feet scuffing heavily over the hardwood. "Pouting really isn't attractive."

"And using one of my most ardent and long held fantasies against me really isn't very nice, Detective."

Kate clips her badge on her hip and spins to face him at the door, the adorable petulance on his face pulling a reluctant smile from her lips. She reaches out and hooks her fingers through his belt loops, pulling him in with a sharp tug. "What if I let you grope me in _your_ elevator?"

"I do that all the time."

"Yes, I know." She presses up on her toes and brushes her lips over his ear. "But this time I promise not to threaten you with bodily harm."

"You realize how pathetic it makes me that I'm about to agree to this, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Yes."

Castle heaves a put upon sigh and leans to the side, swiping his keys off the table. "Okay. Let's get on with it then." He reaches around her and opens the door, walking her backward through the wide frame and into the hall. "One of these days I'm going to talk you into calling out of work to stay home and have sex all day."

Kate rolls her eyes and lets go of his belt, walking toward the elevator while he locks the door. "Keep telling yourself that, Castle." She hits the call button and leans against the wall, watching him. "Until then you'll just have to settle for getting to second base on the way to the parking garage."

The bell dings and he backs her into the waiting car. "Ah, love in an elevator," Castle says wistfully, eyes twinkling as he leans in to catch her mouth, "livin' it up while we're goin' down."

"If you're good," Kate mumbles around his lips, her hands curling into his waist, "the elevator won't be the only thing going down tonight."


	18. Chapter 18

**AN:** This one is for SparkleMouse. Happy birthday, Jess. I mean it when I say I wouldn't be doing _any_ of this without you. Love you.

* * *

The wind pushes sharply at his cheeks as she tugs him along the path, her gloved fingers thick between his. The flurries dance around them, a thin coat of white dusting the bushes and trees they rush past. He leans back, lets the resistance of his weight slow her stride; Kate looks back over her shoulder at him, lips curling up in a wide smile.

"Come on, Castle."

"Where are we going?'

She shakes her head and keeps moving, her boots crunching loudly along the sidewalk. The park is almost deserted after sunset, the children and nannies long gone. The security lights cast an eerie haze over the deserted playground equipment and he can almost imagine the ghosts of children lost floating out of the woods to come play, their little feet leaving invisible tracks in the freshly fallen snow.

His mind wandering, Castle doesn't feel her stop, collides roughly with her back. "Ooph," he grunts, wrapping his free arm around her waist to keep her from toppling over. "Sorry." He looks past her shoulder at where they've stopped, leaning close to speak directly into her ear. "You pulled me out of a nice warm restaurant to come play on the swings?"

He feels her head bob up and down as she untangles their fingers and steps toward the metal structure. She picks a swing in the middle and plops down, not bothering to sweep the snow from the seat, curling her fingers tightly around the chains. Smiling, he watches her push off, her hair fluttering wildly as she builds height and speed, arms and legs pumping. Her laughter floats on the wind and his heart seizes, his entire body paralyzed by the scene he's witnessing. She sounds free and happy and he wants to freeze time, live in this moment of her pure joy for the rest of his life.

She slows as he makes his way over to her, her heels carving into the frozen grass as she brings herself to a stop. Her eyes are bright when he reaches her, the smile she's been wearing since she looked out the window and saw the flurries still stretching her lips. Castle stops in front of her, wrapping his hands around the cold metal chains. She looks up at him, rosy cheeked and breathless and he can't help himself, he has to taste that smile. Bending at the waist, he catches her cold lips in a tender kiss before shaking the chains. "Care to fill me in?"

"Push me?"

Nodding, he steps around behind her and lays a hand on her back, giving her a gentle shove. They work up a slow, easy rhythm, her feet never really leaving the ground. He wants to ask again, wants to hurry the story along and satisfy his curiosity but he waits, knows that she'll tell him in her own time, her own way. The snow is coming down more quickly now and he watches as she tilts her head up, let's the tiny flakes land on her cheeks, catch on her closed lashes.

"I used to love the first snow," she says softly, her voice wistful but present. "My mom would always bundle me up and let me go play in the park across the street from our building. She'd let me roam wherever I wanted but I always ended up on the swings. They were my favorite." She stops working her legs, lets the swing slow and stop. He leaves his hand on her back as she speaks, feels the happy vibrations of her words filtering through the thick fabric of her coat. "I loved going as high and as fast as I could, letting the wind push me around. And when it snowed it was -" She shakes her head, a tiny, embarrassed chuckle catching in her throat. "It was like I was in a snow globe, just floating freely with all those flakes. I loved it. Mom would let me stay out for hours, long after all the other kids went home, just swinging."

Her legs bend and he pushes on her back, setting the swing in a gentle sway. "Eventually, Dad would come out and drag us home, promising hot chocolate and cookies. It was our tradition for years, swings and hot chocolate on the night of the first snow. I decided I was too cool for it sometime around Junior High but I do still love the first snow of the season."

They stay in the park for a while longer, silently watching the world change before them. Kate pushes herself up out of the swing eventually, turning around to face him with a soft smile in her eyes. She pulls him into a long hug, her cold nose pressed into the side of his neck.

"Thank you," she whispers, breath gusting warmly down his collar.

"No problem," he answers, pulling back to kiss her softly. It's all in her eyes when she pulls away, all the things she's yet to say, all the love she's yet to share, and his heart clenches tightly in his chest. Twisting his fingers through hers, Castle pulls her back onto the pavement, walking them back in the direction they came. "Now let's go find us some hot chocolate."


	19. Chapter 19

**AN:** Post ep for 5x05

* * *

She drives with one hand, the other clasping his tightly, fingertips pressing hard into the back of his palm. He lets her grip him as fiercely as she needs, lets his skin blanch and fingers go numb. They idle at a red light, the sounds of the city a distant cacophony, completely removed from the bubble of protective silence they've insulated themselves in since the bridge. She smiles weakly when he lifts their joined hands to his lips, plants a soft kiss to the backs of her knuckles.

The words are there, floating in the spaces between her breaths, waiting. He sees it on her face, the building tension, the oncoming explosion. He wants it, wants the words. Wants them more than he wanted out of that cell, more than he wanted her to trust and believe in him. But not like this. He doesn't want them tainted by the spectre of a psychopath and another close call. He wants them to be given freely, not forced out by fear.

His breath comes a little easier when she pulls into his parking garage, guiding the car smoothly up the twisted concrete. He'd been prepared to have to ask her to stay. To have to explain that he needed her tonight. Tomorrow. Forever. She coasts into a vacant space, extracting her hand from his so she can throw the car in park. The soft rumble of the engine surrounds him, gently vibrating through the solid metal frame of her cruiser, and he watches her, watches the way her chest stutters, her fingers still clasped tightly around the steering wheel. He reaches over and kills the ignition, pulls the key out of the switch. Her eyes meet his when he hits the release on her seatbelt, pushes the loose restraint off her shoulder.

"Castle - "

"Let's go upstairs."

She nods, popping the handle and sliding smoothly out of the seat. His exit is less graceful, the impact of the crash finally catching up with him, reminding him none too gently of his age. His mortality. Her fingers thread through his again and he leans into her, lets her smaller frame bear some of his weight. She pushes back and they walk together toward the elevator, holding each other up.

They spend the afternoon with his mother and daughter, the four of them quietly ensconced on the plush furniture in his living room, studiously avoiding the glaring signs that his home was very recently overflowing with police officers and crime scene technicians. Alexis asks questions that he doesn't want to answer and his mother stares at him with a look he doesn't want to identify. Kate curls into him, her hand resting over his heart, knees pressed into his side. He breathes her in, lets the gentle scent of her shampoo replace the stench of cordite and river water.

He takes a long shower after dinner, the pounding spray abusing his stiff muscles and joints. The cool tile sweats from the heat of the water, the temperature as high as he can stand, his skin burnt and raw. It's not enough. He can still feel it, the fear and the grime. The weight of cold eyes on the back of his neck. His back hits the wall as his stomach churns, the mossy green tiles swimming dangerously in front of him. Slamming off the water, he gets out and dries himself roughly, quickly, desperate to get out of the too small bathroom.

She's on the bed when he stumbles out, her back propped against the headboard, knees pulled tightly to her chest. He trips across the distance and collapses beside her, curling himself around the tiny ball of her body. Her legs unfold and she pulls him over, his upper body dwarfing the span of her lap. Soft fingers run through his damp hair, a soothing rhythm that slows the pound of his heart, brings him slowly back off the ledge.

Rolling to his side, he tugs her down with him, watches the shadows play across her skin as he leans over her, covers her body with his. Her lips are open and welcoming, her hands warm and familiar. He loses himself in the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the arch of her spine. Pulling back, he stares down into her face, full of love and hope, runs his palm down the side of her thigh, sliding her knee up rest against his waist. He settles between her hips, lets the pitch and roll of their bodies drive the memories, the worries, the fears from his mind.

He tried to ruin this, tried to strip it of meaning, imbue it with his evil.

He watched them.

Kate arches up, her fingers twisting hard into his hair, his name riding off her tongue on a sigh. Castle presses his mouth into her shoulder, brands her with his teeth and his lips, paints his love across her skin in broad strokes.

.

.

.

He's not watching now.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN**: Happy Halloween

* * *

His heart stops when he sees her. The long pencil skirt hugging her hips and thighs, the matching suit jacket cinched tightly around her waist, the chunky no-nonsense heels. The wig.

"You really do love me," Castle breathes, his fingers toying with the end of his tie. Kate just laughs and shuts off the light in the bathroom, striding across the room to stand between his thighs, her hands curled at his neck. "I'm serious. This," he waves a hand up and down her body, "is love."

"I'm wearing a Halloween costume, Castle. It's not that big of a deal."

"Yes, it is," he insists, pressing on her hips and pushing her back a couple of steps so he can stand. "You suggested these costumes, Beckett. You're wearing a fake FBI badge and a red wig. You agreed to let me call you Scully _all night_." He presses his lips to her neck, the blunt ends of the wig tickling his nose. "It is most definitely a big deal."

Her hands coast up into his hair, fingers twirling and tugging, hips rocking gently into him. "We're going to be late, Castle," she sighs, her neck rolling to the side as he sucks at her skin, her perfume bitter and sharp against his tongue.

"Mulder," he corrects her, his hands sliding down to grip her ass as she laughs at him. "And let's forget the party and just stay here."

"You can't skip your own party, _Mulder_." She squirms against him as he fights with the tight material of her skirt, tries to ruck it up her thighs, desperate to get at her skin. "I didn't put on this wig just to role play with you."

He leans back, looks at her with a raised eyebrow. "No?"

"No." She pushes on his shoulders and steps away, heading toward the living room. "We're going to the party." She plants her hand on the door frame, turning back to look at him with a wicked smile curling her lips. "Plus, the role playing will be _so_ much more fun after a few hours of being in character."

"I thought you didn't put on that wig to role play with me?" He parrots her words back to her, following her toward the door.

Kate spins, the laminated FBI badge bouncing on her chest. "No, I said I didn't put it on _just_ to role play with you." Her fingers curl around his tie and she tugs him out the door, a predatory look gleaming in her eyes. "Do try to keep up, FBI man."

"You really are the perfect woman," he whispers as she pulls him in for a kiss by the elevator.

"Wait until you see what I have on under this," she teases, her mouth hovering over his, breath hot and sweet. He groans, fingers clenching tightly around her waist, as she whispers, "Gives new meaning to the phrase 'G-Woman'."


	21. Chapter 21

She wakes to find him curled at the foot of the bed, his hair flopping down over his forehead, eyes shining brightly. The low sounds of his murmurs fill the room, washing over her with the late afternoon sunshine, warming her skin. He grins up at her when she twines her fingers through his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. The brush of his stubble makes her jump when he presses a quick kiss to the swell of her abdomen before shimmying up the bed to gather as much of her in his arms as he can.

"The kid gets a kiss before I do? That's how it's gonna be now?"

He laughs when she yawns, her jaw clicking loudly. "The kid was awake. You weren't."

"Mm-hmm," she hums, tugging him in for a long kiss, the slick slide of his lips pulling her the rest of the way to consciousness. "You've been greeting my stomach before my face for at least three months."

"Well, it's the first thing to enter the room so -" Castle trails off as she swipes at him, her palm connecting solidly with his shoulder. Kate glares at him and he grins down at her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and dropping his lips to the base of her palm. "Save the physical abuse for the delivery, Beckett," he advises, damp lips dragging over her pounding pulse. He climbs over the mountain of her stomach, settling himself down behind her, sweeps the long sheet of hair from her neck. She can't help the groan that rumbles in her chest when his fingers dig into her tense muscles, seeking out the stubborn knots she's been carrying almost as long as the baby. "One week to go," he whispers, his sock covered toes pushing into the arch of her left foot.

"I know." Kate shakes her head, her cheek pressing into the pillow as she spreads her fingers across her distended abdomen. The baby hasn't stopped fidgeting in days, a constant series of flips and kicks that keep her up at all hours, her mind over-tired and her body over-stimulated. "Seems like just yesterday we were sneaking off to have drunken sex in the stairwell at your book launch."

His breath is hot against her neck when he chuckles, hips bumping gently against the curve of her ass. "We can never tell her the story of her conception."

"That's not a story _anyone_ needs to hear, Castle, much less our daughter."

"You realize that since all of our milestones involve sex or alcohol -"

"Or both."

" - that we literally have _no_ stories that are acceptable to tell our kid?"

"Well, then," Kate sighs, a shiver sliding lazily down her spine as his lips ghost over her neck, "it's a good thing I married a man that makes stuff up for a living."


	22. Chapter 22

**AN:** Post ep for 5x08. Wrote this in about 20 minutes and while on pain killers so here's hoping it makes sense. Please forgive me if it doesn't.

* * *

His chest is warm against her side, the steady thud of his heart syncing with her own as she closes her eyes, lets herself sink down into him. The remnants of their dinner are still scattered across the table, the kitchen island, and she knows they need to move, to clean it up before it becomes an impossible task but she can't bring herself to crawl out of his lap. To dislodge his lips from their perch on her temple, lose the comforting weight of his hands on her back, trade the spicy bite of his cologne for the overpowering stench of cleaning supplies. She needs this.

Him.

Just for another minute.

The terror she'd felt when Leo started shooting- blasting holes in the car and her heart, her life- still sits heavy in her stomach. A rock that won't move, won't dissolve, no matter how many times she brushes her lips against his skin and finds it still warm, rests the pads of her fingers against his neck, feels the steady thrum of his heart answering her silent plea for reassurance. Too close. It was just too fucking close.

"You were wrong, you know." His voice is low, a gentle roll of thunder that sends shivers coursing down her back, makes her skin hot and tight over her too tense muscles. "When we were in that basement with Leo," he continues, his hand coasting up to bury in the tangled mess of her hair. "You said that I was a world famous, bestselling author -"

"Wasn't wrong about that, Castle," she chuckles half heartedly. "You take great pleasure in reminding us all of that as often as you can."

"No, that part you got right." She feels his ribs shake lightly under her palm and curls her fingers, pressing them tightly into the contracting muscles. More proof that he's here, alive and with her. "But then you said that you're just a cop." Her breath hitches when he dips his head, skims his lips down from her temple to her ear. "You are so much more than that, Kate. You - I can't imagine a scenario when I would ever describe you as being _just _anything."

"You love adjectives and adverbs. And hyperbole."

"Yes, I do," he hums, his mouth still pressed to the skin below her ear. "But it doesn't make the things I say about you any less true." His fingers dip under the hem of her top, the pads rough and hot against her lower back. She loves the calluses on his hands, the tough patches on his fingers and the heels of his palms from hours spent putting pen to paper or pounding at his laptop. Writing stories about her, about them. "You're not just a cop, Kate. You're an amazing detective. You're tireless and relentless. You speak for the victims, you honor their loss _and_ their lives. You're stubborn -" her laugh is choked and wet, the knot of emotion swirling through her chest blocking her throat - "and brilliant. Seriously, your brain scares the hell out of me sometimes."

"That's saying a lot coming from you," she whispers back, her cheek pressing into his shoulder as her lips pull up into a wide smile.

"Indeed it is." He leans away and his fingers press into the back of her neck, tipping her face up to look at him. The love shining on his face, etched into the lines around his eyes, his mouth, sneaks into her chest like a thief, absconds with what little air she'd managed to pull into her shallow lungs. She sucks in a shaky breath when his thumb slips over her cheek, his hand spreading wide to cradle her face, fingers hooked around the angle of her jaw, pinky pressing softly into the side of her neck. "You're amazing, Kate, and not just at your job. You constantly astound me with your strength and your heart. The way you're always willing to play along with me and my ridiculous ideas, even if you do sneak in the occasional obligatory eye roll still." Their laughter swirls between them, a gentle current that floats over her cheeks, rustles softly through her hair. "You made space in your life not only for me but for my family as well."

Her eyes slip closed as he leans in, whispers his lips over hers. The fingers in his shirt fist when he tries to pull back, her grip ironclad and full of need. His hand flattens on her back and he pulls her closer, holding her tightly to his chest as he opens for her, gives and gives and gives of himself until they're both breathless with it, the love and fear and need careening off each other, ricocheting around them, leaving cracks in her heart. Her body is a live wire, sparking and hot, vibrating ruthlessly under the soft caress of his hands.

"You took down a wall for me," he murmurs, nose pressed alongside hers, his lips warm and damp at the corner of her mouth.

"No." She shakes her head quickly, the sharpness of her movement causing him to pull back, eyes bright and questioning, tinged with a dim shadow of fear. She releases his shirt, skates her hands up his chest, over the driving beat of his heart, cradles the thick cords of his neck. His stubble is sharp against her fingers and she bends her knuckles, curling her nails into the strong line of his jaw. "We did that together, Castle." Pressing up, she kisses him softly, breathes the word into his parted lips. "Partners."


	23. Chapter 23

**AN:** For Kelly

* * *

The moonlight fades out as the clouds roll past, the shadows on the walls growing longer, darker. Kate rests on her side, one knee tucked up against her stomach, the soft cotton of her loose sleep shirt pulling goosebumps up along her thigh as she shifts, tries to mold her body into a comfortable position. The howling wind whips through the deserted alley outside her window, sharp gusts that send her burrowing deeper into the bulky weight of her bedding, the goose down quilt a poor substitute for the warmth of Castle's chest against her back, the weight of his arm wrapped around her stomach, the hard press of his knees into the backs of her thighs.

Her phone is cold as she wedges it between the pillow and her ear, the crystal screen a sharp prick of ice against her cheek. The trilling of the ringing line is too loud but she fights the urge to pull away, presses her head harder against the pillow, holding her breath, willing him to answer. The line clicks, a faint tick that sends her heart skittering against her ribs, a rapid tattoo that makes her left foot twitch, her heel digging into the mattress.

"Kate?" The question is low and rough, full of sleep and confusion, and she feels her stomach drop, her spine bending into a concave arch, her free hand lifting to press hard against her chest, cradling the deep alto of his voice in the cove of her body. "Kate, you there?"

"Yeah," she croaks, the single word breaking free from the pack lodged at the base of her throat, a jumbled scrum of need and want. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you okay?" There's a creeping panic in his voice, a fear she can hear growing, keeping pace with his level of wakefulness. "Is something -"

"I'm okay." She tries to keep her tone level, tries to hold back the tremor of need. "I just -"

The words dry up, her throat suddenly barren, parched and scratchy. Frigid air seeps through the cracks around her windows, swirling along the hardwood floor, twisting and climbing up the walls and across the ceiling. She pulls it into her lungs on a shaky inhale, lets it burn down her throat until she can feel the thin tendrils of cold twining through her ribs, knotting around her pounding heart.

"Kate?" The fear has left his voice now, replaced by a gentleness that's too much, too knowing. She can picture his face, the softness around his eyes, the way the corners of his lips curl up when he catches her in a moment of need. "Why are you awake at -" she hears his sheets rustling, the click of his bedside lamp - "four am on your day off?"

"I can't sleep," she sighs, her face burning with embarrassment. "I - I miss you and I can't sleep and I wanted to hear your voice." The words tumble out in a rush, running over each other in their frantic bid for freedom. "And I know I'm being ridiculous because we spent all day together and we're supposed to have lunch after your meeting today but - God, Castle. I miss you. My bed is too big and too cold and I'm -" A dull thump followed by a sharp hiss cuts off her rant. She can hear him panting on the other end of the line, his breath coming in staccato bursts that set her blood on fire, make her fingers clench painfully against her chest. "What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed."

"Why?"

"Because I'm coming over."

"No, Castle. It's four in the morning. Get back in bed."

"I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Castle."

"I miss you too." Her breath hitches hard, sternum jerking with the force of it. A sigh trickles down the line and she closes her eyes, imagines she can feel that gentle puff of air caressing her cheek, drifting over her neck. "What's the point of spending the night apart so I can work if I get absolutely _no _work done? I spent all night editing the same five pages because all I could think about was you. For a muse, you are incredibly detrimental to my productivity."

She laughs and the ice inside her chest cracks, the low pitch of his voice melting away the remnants of her embarrassment, filling her up with warmth and comfort. Kate rolls to her back, lets her eyes track over the long crack that zigzags across her ceiling, radiating out from the corner by the door. "Get back in bed, Castle."

"No. I'm getting in a cab and coming over. And then I'm going to let myself in with my shiny new key and come crawl in behind you, let your bed and your body leech the cold out of my skin."

"You have that meeting in the morning." Her protest is half-hearted at best and she knows he can hear it, can hear how much she wants him to insist on having his way, to ignore her commands and trek across the city in the wee hours of the morning just so they can spend a few hours curled around each other.

"Alarm."

"The loft is closer to Black Pawn."

"Cabs _do_ travel more than twenty blocks, Beckett."

Silence settles between them, the digital signal crisp enough that she can hear him wrestling with his shoes, the metal jangle of his keys as he scoops them off the side table. Her eyes drift shut, the steady rhythm of his respiration quieting her mind, soothing the nagging ache in the center of her chest. Her own breath evens out, the space between each breath lengthening, and she can feel her body relaxing, the tense muscles releasing, her joints going loose. The distant bell of the elevator dings in her ear and she sighs, his name hanging off the soft edge of her bottom lip.

"Sleep, Kate," he whispers, more air than sound. "I'll be there soon."

Her phone slips out of her fingers as the line beeps, sliding down the hill of her pillow, landing on the mattress with a heavy thump. Kate rolls back to her side and nestles down into the blankets to wait, her mouth tilted up into a sleepy smile.


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: **If you follow me on tumblr, you'll know that I sometimes get carried away and end up writing fic like things in tags. This came from one of those. The idea just burrowed into my brain and I had to get it out. You have my preemptive apologies for any and all emotional damage this causes.

* * *

He watches the snow come down slowly, tiny flakes that land on the shoulders and hats of the rows of officers standing at attention behind the podium, a dusting of white that turns the sea of dark blue into a makeshift night sky. The mayor stands at the microphone, a picture of distinguished solemnity, his gloved hands clasped around the wooden frame as he gives an elegant speech about heroism and bravery, the honor of sacrifice. His voice is low and gentle, the pitch he uses during press conferences about mass shootings and natural disasters. It's a comforting tone, meant to empathize and sooth, but it falls like tin against Jim's ears. There will be no comfort today. No important revelation about the greater meaning behind all of it, no gratitude for heroism and bravery. There are no heroes. There is no bravery. There are only the two flag draped coffins resting side by side under the grey sky, drifts of snow collecting at their bases.

Detectives Ryan and Esposito stand sentinel, one positioned at the head of each casket, Captain Gates bridging the gap between them. His lap is a tangle of gloved hands, Alexis and Martha grasping at him and each other, their tears soaking into the necks of their dresses, tissues lying forgotten in their purses. Lanie sits on the other side of Alexis, her arm wrapped tightly around the young woman's shaking shoulders, silent tears rolling over her cheeks. The wind whips through the barren trees, a mournful whistle that slices through his chest, pouring in through the gaping hole left by shattered heart.

They shouldn't be here. None of them. They should be out enjoying the season; fretting over what presents to buy, admiring the strings of bright white lights and glittering decorations that adorn the city, drinking hot chocolate and telling stories about Christmases gone by. They should be celebrating their first holiday together as a family- blended and motley but a family nonetheless - not burying the two people that brought them all together.

The pop of the rifles makes him jump, his eyes screwing tight against the echoing reports. A lone bagpipe hums to life, the reedy sound damp and full of sorrow, and the anger surges through his body, hot and bright. He wants it to stop. Wants to be anywhere but here, sitting on this hard plastic chair, his limbs going numb while the cold December air lashes at his wet cheeks. Wants to be able to close his eyes and not see them, bodies crumpled on the bare warehouse floor, bloody hands clasped between them, Rick's glazed eyes open and fixed on Katie, observing her even in death.

The horrible poetry of it isn't lost on him, the bookends of his daughter's life being witnessed by the two men who loved her. He was there at the beginning; watched her come into the world, red faced and screaming, her tiny little body full of so much life that his heart stopped, the entire world tilting on its axis. And Rick - he was there when the axis shifted back, tipping them all into this terrible alternate reality, a place where nothing will ever again be the same. Jim can't help but harbor a sliver of envy the man resting in the coffin next to his daughter's; he only had to bear this world for a brief moment, only had a handful of breaths in which to experience a life without her.

The flag is cold and stiff when they hand it to him, the fabric rough against the pads of his fingers, the edges of the folded triangle pressing sharply into his thighs. Alexis clutches her own bundle of stars and stripes and buries her face in Jim's coat, her sobs violent and raw. The crowd disperses slowly but they remain - Jim, Martha, and Alexis - a family borne of circumstance and bonded by tragedy, bearing witness to the ceremony of death. Watching as Rick and Kate are committed back to the earth, together. Always.


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: **For Aly, who sends me asks filled with all kinds of dirty B/C thoughts that I then feel compelled to write about. The idea for this one came from Aly's filthy mind (though I have sanitized it quite a bit, more's the pity) and a gifset of Beckett's gorgeous in love face which will be linked on my Tumblr. And I hope the fluff herein sufficiently mends any hearts that were damaged by the last ficlet.

* * *

He keeps a mental catalogue of her smiles. Even now, more than six months into this, the list is still growing, additions and footnotes being scribbled into the margins of his brain with regularity. She telegraphs so much with her face. Gives away more with the tilt of her lips and the arch of her brow than she would ever say aloud. He loves reading her, picking up on her moods and her thoughts, deciphering the unspoken words hidden in the edges of her smiles. He knows exactly what he's in for when he opens the door and finds her standing on the other side, her mouth dipping into a slow, sexy curve that makes his blood flash hot in an instant. Knows it's going to be a good day when he sees the happy, lopsided smile spilling over her face when he kisses her good morning, her hair a tumbling mass of curls, her toes cold against his shins. Knows that he's got her when he catches her her eyes shining with the amusement she refuses to let grace her lips when he's being intentionally annoying or outlandish.

Her coffee smile is an old friend, the constant companion that kept him going, gave him hope. A tilt of the lips and a nod of the head, her warm fingers brushing over his as she accepted his coffee and his heart every morning. He'd watch as she pressed the rim of the cup to her smile, her lips only changing shape long enough to take a sip, bouncing right back as she made that little moan of delight in the back of her throat, a sharp note of satisfaction that still makes his knees turn to water, makes him want to hold her close and discover all the other sounds he can pull from her. So many mornings now he's done just that, pinning her to the mattress as her coffee goes cold on the nightstand, her body arching and slick under his hands.

She has this sly little grin she wears just before she says something sarcastic or biting, an impish look that makes him imagine what she must have been like as a child, calculating and tough, cutting down the boys on the playground with a single barb and a sharp kick to the shins. When she looks at him like that, her lips pulled tight and nose scrunched up - the very picture of feigned innocence - he can't help but picture a little girl with his eyes and her hair, wrapping him so completely around her finger with that same smile, and his heart hammers so violently that he's surprised it doesn't beat right out of his chest.

The self-satisfied smirk she dons when she's got him sprawled out underneath her, his body overflowing with sticky desire, is rivaled only by the euphoric beam that splits her flushed cheeks in the aftermath, her sated body draped her his chest, fingers drumming a lazy rhythm agasint his ribs. She always rolls her eyes when he tells her that sex with her is the most fun he's ever had, laughter dancing in her voice when she tells him that's just the endorphins talking, but it's the truth. He loves how unabashedly she pursues pleasure, how unashamed she is of her body and how vocal she is in her appreciation of his. He'd always known they would be good together but the reality of having her in his bed, naked and smiling at him like he just made her forget her own name, is far greater than any fantasy he could ever concoct.

The secret smiles might be his favorites, the shy, private ones she lets slip when she thinks no one is looking. The smiles that make him certain that she loves him, is _in love_ with him, even if she can't say the words yet. He feasts on those smiles; the tenderness that radiates out from her lips, lighting up her whole face, fills him up, makes him want to do stupid things like buy her a ring and pick a date. He's tried to work out the formula, to piece together the exact circumstances needed to mold her lips into that tiny, pleased bow that she tries so hard to cover with the press of her fingers or the edge of her coffee cup. He wants to be able to put that look on her face at will, to make her eyes goes soft and hazy at quarter after ten on a Tuesday morning just because he can. Because his heart beats for the upturn of her lips, the barely audible hum of her happiness. He knows they'll get there eventually. Knows she'll give him her love and her smile freely, in her own time, on her own terms. He can wait. But that doesn't mean he's going to stop trying. He has a catalogue to fill, after all.


	26. Chapter 26

**AN:** Someone on tumblr asked me to write a story where Kate comforts Castle after a nightmare. So here we are.

* * *

He jerks awake, disoriented by the too white walls, the cacophony of traffic floating through the half-open window, his body drenched in sweat. The covers are bunched around his feet, pulling him down to his knees as he trips out of the bed, desperately trying to suck in air. He barely makes it to the bathroom in time, her voice distant and tinny in his ear as he heaves, emptying the contents of his stomach over and over until nothing is left but the harsh burn of acid in his throat. Cool fingers caress his neck when he collapses back against the wall, the tile burning like ice on his bare back. Kate hands him a glass of water and sits down next to him, her legs folded up under her body, worry written in the lines of her face.

"Do you need me to find you some medicine?" He swishes the water in his mouth as her fingers flit nervously over his skin, light touches burn with comfort and love. "I don't keep much stuff here but there's a twenty-four hour pharmacy down the block and I can go -"

"I'm fine," he rasps, his throat raw and aching. "I'm fine, Kate."

"Castle, you just stumbled out of bed to vomit at two in the morning. That's not fine." She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, her body canted over his, the hem of her oversized shirt brushing against his thigh. "You don't feel warm. And we had the same thing for dinner and I feel fine so it's not food pois-"

"It was a dream." She rocks back a little when he cuts her off, her lips turning down in confusion. "I had a - a bad dream. A nightmare, I guess."

"A nightmare that made you physically ill?" He nods and takes another gulp of the water, lets it swirl over his tongue, around the backs of his teeth, sloshing against the parched dams of his cheeks before he leans forward and expels it. The taste of fear lingers in his mouth, sharp and bitter, and he sighs, his head dropping back to hit the wall with a dull thump.

"You want to talk about it?" Her voice is calm but he can see the worry in her eyes when he looks at her, squinting against the bright overhead light.

"It was Tyson. We were - we were with him on the bridge. He shot you."

"Castle."

"He shot you," he presses on, unable to stop now that he's started. He has to get it out, has to erase the hazy images still dancing across his mind. "You fell and I started to run toward you but then - He had Alexis. He had her by the hair, his gun pressed to her throat. I froze. I was stuck in the middle of the bridge with you bleeding on one side and Alexis with a gun to her neck on the other."

The tears press hard against the backs of his eyes and he tilts his head back, trying to keep them at bay, reminding himself over and over and that it was just a dream. Alexis is safe in her dorm and Kate - Kate is sliding behind him, pulling his body into the heated cove of hers, her knees bracketing his ribs, one arm wrapped tightly around his chest, the other cradling his pounding head.

"He shot her. He shot my daughter in the chest and let her body fall. And he told me I had to choose. I could only save one of you and I had to choose." Her hand smoothes through his damp hair, long fingers running over his scalp, her lips pressing hard against his temple. "I didn't even hesitate, Kate." The words choke hard in his throat and his stomach rolls again, his body folding in on itself. "I ran to her. I chose Alexis. I chose Alexis and you died."

The tears break free, trickling down over his cheeks, catching in the hard spikes of his stubble. He scrubs at his face as apologies tumble from his lips, nonsense words that he doesn't really hear, can't stop. Kate shushes him, her breath warm at his ear, her heart beating out a steady rhythm at his back. The gentle patter of her voice, the hard grip of her arm around his chest, calm him, bring him slowly back to himself, to her. He wraps his fingers around her ankles, the bones thin and delicate in his palms, and relaxes back into her, lets the warmth and familiarity of her body comfort him.

"It was just a dream," she whispers, her lips still resting just above his ear.

"I know. I know that. She's safe and we're here but - Kate, god, it was so real. I could smell the river, I could feel the blood under my hands. I could hear - hear you gasping for air behind me. It was just too -"

"Real," she finishes for him when he stumbles, her chin bumping into the back of his neck. "I think you need to see someone, Castle. At least once. Because we both know this isn't the first nightmare you've had about that night."

"No," he admits, relief slowly seeping into his blood as the adrenaline fades. "It's not. This is the first time that Alexis has - It's usually just you. He shoots you and gets away and then -"

"I die?"

"Yeah."

The rough pile of the shower mat abrades the back of his thighs as he shifts, tries to turn around to face her. Kate holds him steady, knees digging into his sides, arm clenched tightly around him, fingers pressed hard into his skin. He stops struggling, sinks back down into her, lets her small frame bear his weight. Closing his eyes, Castle rests his head in the cradle of her neck and sighs, "Normally, I just wake up and roll over to look at you, make sure you're there. Breathing. But this one - I killed you, Kate. I had to choose and my choice killed you. I can't live with that."

"I'm not dead. I'm here." Her lips coast over his forehead, soft and dry, a feather touch that eases the ache in his skull, slows the still too fast beat of his heart. "It was just a dream, Rick. A terrible nightmare that will never come true."

"I killed you."

"No, you didn't. You made the only choice you could. I would never want you to choose me over Alexis, not even in a dream. We both know that none of us would ever survive that." She presses light kisses to his temple, her legs unfolding to wrap securely around his waist, ankles hooked over his lap. "You're an amazing father, Castle. It's one of the first things I loved about you."

They stay there, her body wrapped tightly around his on her bathroom floor, for a while longer, until his legs starts to ache, the cold tile pressing hard into his coccyx. Gently, he untangles her limbs from around him and pushes to his feet, a groan hanging in his chest. Kate watches him with sleepy eyes, worry still hiding in the long shadows of her lashes. Castle holds out a hand and she takes it, lets him pull her to her feet and up against his chest, her head nestling comfortably into the side of his neck.

"I love you," she whispers, her hands running smoothly over the planes of his back.

With his cheek pressed to the top of her head, he can see their reflection in the mirror hanging behind her sink, watches his own lips tug up into a tiny smile as her words seep into his skin, smothering the last smoldering ember of fear floating inside his chest. "Love you too," he returns, his heart finally settling back into a comfortable cadence against his ribs.

"Let's go to bed."

Castle presses a kiss to the top of her head and pulls back, hooking a thumb toward the sink. "Let me just brush my teeth first."

Nodding, Kate plants a sloppy kiss on his shoulder as she skirts around him, heading back into the bedroom. He has a small moment of panic when the blackness swallows her up, when he can no longer see the outline of her body, hear the gentle slap of her feet on the hardwood. The sheets rustle through the darkness and his lungs release, pushing out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

"Hurry, Castle," she calls, her voice sleepy and slow. "I'm cold."

Plucking his toothbrush from its resting place to next to hers, he loads up the bristles with toothpaste and flips on the water before answering her.

"Be right there."


	27. Chapter 27

She sleeps in the guest room.

He'd tried to send her home, his eyes bloodshot with tears and alcohol, stubborn insistence in his voice that he was fine. Perfectly fine. Would be even better if she stopped hovering and just left him the hell alone. Kate watched from his office as he'd thrown back the last of the whisky and collapsed on his mattress; had stood silent sentinel until his deep, rasping snores floated on the air. Quickly, she'd snuck into the room and pulled off his shoes, heaved him over onto his side in case he got sick, and then made her way upstairs, one of his t-shirts clutched in her fist.

The guest room is cold and stuffy, the pillows too hard at her back, the sheets rough against her bare legs. She's no stranger to this room, having stayed here for a week after her apartment blew up a lifetime ago, but it feels like a foreign land to her now, a distant place that leaves her homesick and aching. Her bed is across town in her own apartment but her home - her home is downstairs, passed out in a drunken stupor, his broken heart scattered across the floor, mixing with the glinting shards of shattered crystal from the vase he'd thrown and refused to let her clean up. She sets her alarm for six so she can make sure she's up in enough time to clear the debris before he cuts himself in a hung over haze.

The moonlight cuts a sharp angle across the duvet as she settles down, the exhaustion catching up with her in one fell swoop. Her mind keeps running even as her eyes drift shut, a mental tally of all the things she needs to make sure he takes care of over the next few days scrolling endlessly through her mind. The list fades out slowly as sleep pulls her under, tugging at her consciousness in fits and starts.

She jerks awake when the door squeaks open, the rarely used hinges protesting against the late night workout. Rolling over, she sees him standing in the doorway, eyes drooping and sad, hair flopping limply over his forehead. He'd found the strength to change clothes, apparently, pajama pants riding low on his hips, a Batman logo stretched across the barrel of his chest. Kate flips the covers back and he walks to the bed, his unsteady legs dumping him in a heap at the foot. He looks like a lost little boy as he crawls up the mattress to meet her and Kate feels her heart break for him for the hundredth time since they got the call that morning.

Castle rolls onto his side and she curls herself around him, knees pressing into his back as she cradles his head against her chest. The soft light falling through the window highlights the ghostly tracks of tears on his cheeks, dried beds of salt trailing down to his chin, dipping into the deep crevices that bracket his mouth. A rattling sigh slips through his chest and Kate runs her fingers through his hair, scratching light circles against his scalp, the stale scent of whisky filling her lungs.

"My mother is dead," he whispers in a thick voice, the words slow and deliberate.

"I know."

His hand finds hers resting on his ribs, fingers twining as he pulls her more tightly around him, presses his head hard against her sternum. "I don't know how to live in a world where my mother is dead."

"I know," she murmurs, dipping her head to press her lips to his hair. "You will though."

Silence swallows them, the soft tick of the clock on the wall keeping time with his shallow breaths. She feels his body start to relax, sinking further into the mattress, into her, the tension seeping slowly from his muscles and joints. His legs twitch as he drifts, a random firing of his nervous systerm that gives her an odd sort of comfort with its normalcy.

"Alexis?" The word is a slur, a barely conscious thought slipping thickly off his tongue.

"Her flight lands at eleven. I made arrangements for a car to pick her up."

He nods, accepting the information she's already given him three times with a sleepy squeeze of her fingers. "'m sorry I yelled."

"It's okay."

"Love you, Kate. So much."

"I love you too." She leans in and rests her lips on his temple, lets the fine hair there tickle her chin as she breathes him in. "Try to sleep, Rick. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Does it ever stop hurting?" The words are tiny, a child's voice for a child's question.

"No," she sighs, wishing she didn't have these answers, could take away his pain with well meaning platitudes and clichés. "But eventually it will hurt a little less and a little less after that and then one day you won't feel the jagged edges of it anymore. You'll be able to breathe without feeling like your chest is being ripped apart. You'll always hurt, you'll always miss her. But you'll be able to live with it."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Wish it was eventually now," he mutters. "Never really thought she'd die."

She has no answer for that so she just holds him, lets the steady strum of her thumb over his ribs lull him into sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

**AN:** I woke up with this in my head and had to get it out.

I'm sorry.

* * *

Ten fingers.

Ten toes.

A head full of jet black hair. A perfect rosebud mouth, pink and puckered. Round cheeks, spindly legs, strong chin. Tiny ears, a blotchy red birthmark sitting on top of her foot. Castle sits propped up against the headboard, knees bent, their daughter resting on his thighs. The baby sighs and squirms, the gentle sound of plastic against cloth rustling through the room. He knows he should close the blankets back around her body, keep her swaddled and warm, but he can't. Not yet. He can't stop staring at her, eyes scanning the length of her, all nineteen and half inches, over and over.

She has Kate's nose. Sloping and strong, perched perfectly in the center of her tiny face. It scrunches when she yawns and he runs the pad of his finger over the furrow of her brow, tracing over the impossibly soft skin. A tiny freckle rests at the corner of her left eye, almost invisible when her face folds up, a ragged, piercing cry tumbling from her small but clearly powerful lungs.

He swipes the bottle from the warmer on the nightstand, shifting the baby into his arm, her diapered rear nestled into the crook of his elbow, head resting perfectly in his cupped palm. She suckles the bottle greedily, lips smacking around the rubber nipple as she pulls at it with unabashed vigor. Long lashes flutter against her cheeks for a moment and when her eyes open, his heart stops.

Green.

He always forgets. Forgets that she has her mother's eyes. Forgets that he's going to have to spend the rest of his life looking into those eyes, missing her. That he's going to have to do this alone.

Again.

The baby finishes eating and he drops the bottle on the bed, her side, and lifts her up against his chest, settles her over his heart. Milky breath caresses his neck as he runs his hand over her back, her knees digging sharply into his ribs. A tiny fist presses into the hollow of his throat, curved fingers closing over the neck of his t-shirt. He lets the tears come, hot and fast, rolling unchecked over cheeks, dripping down onto the thin arm bent across chest.

He can do this.

He can be a single father.

He can be a widower.

He has to.


	29. Chapter 29

**AN:** Not a single death or drop of angst to be found.

* * *

She can't help but smile at the startled look on his face when the door swings open, her hand still hanging in midair. His eyes are wide with surprise, tongue working noiselessly against his teeth as his mouth swings open. Kate steps into him, her fingers curling softly around the back of his neck as she pulls him in for a kiss.

"I thought you had to work," he whispers, one arm wrapping around her waist, tugging her body up against his chest.

"Snuck out early." His breath is warm on her cheek, fingers digging hard into the jut of her hip. "I didn't want to miss our first Christmas."

Twinkling lights flash across her vision as he spins them around, kicking the door shut without letting her go. The bulk of his jacket presses into her stomach and she slides one hand down his chest, fists her fingers in the heavy wool. "Were you going somewhere?"

"To come see you," he chuckles, tossing the coat over the banister, pushing her bag off her shoulder and letting it clatter to the floor. "I didn't want to miss our first Christmas either." His voice is an exaggerated whisper against her ear, warm and rasping, and she can't stop the shiver that spills down her back. Doesn't want to. "I was going to kidnap you."

Her laugh bounces freely around the loft, catching on the tinsel and garland, echoing back to her wrapped in a layer of comforting warmth. Thick fingers work under the collar of her coat, curling over her shoulders, pushing it down off her arms. He tosses it over the banister with his own, waving off her concerns about wool on twinkle lights. Twining their fingers, he tugs her over to the couch, his whole body radiating joy. Castle flops onto the couch and pulls her down next to him, the cold leather creaking under their combined weight. Her heels hit the floor with twin thumps and she swings her legs over his lap, fingers tangling in his shirt as she burrows into his chest.

"So, kidnapping?"

"Yep," he nods, his hand finding a home on her thigh, fingers sweeping softly over the seam of her slacks. "Was gonna tuck you under my coat. Sneak you out right under Gates' nose. Totally would have worked."

"You do realize that we don't live in a Three Stooges movie, right?"

"Kate. It's Christmas. Don't kill my joy."

"It's only," she flips her arm over, squints at the oversized face of her father's watch, "ten forty-six. Not Christmas yet."

"It's been Christmas for four hours in England."

"We're not in England."

"It's those keen powers of observation that make you such a great detective, Beckett."

He yelps when she pinches him, her fingers plucking at the skin of his ribs. Their laughter fades into a comfortable silence as her head lands on his shoulder, the gentle thud of his heart pulling her down into an easy peacefulness. His left hand rests over her right on his chest, the pads of his fingers rhythmically stroking the skin at her wrist as they watch the tree, the white lights reflecting off the windows, casting the room in an ethereal haze. The heat kicks on, rustling through the loose needles, the scent of pine floating on the air. His right hand coasts up her back to tangle in her hair, thumb pressing into the shallow hollow behind her ear, and she shivers, goosebumps rising up under the soft knit of her sweater, words swirling wildly in her chest.

"Castle?"

He hums, lips resting against her temple.

"I love you."

His chest goes still and she feels the breath catch hard in his lungs, his fingers clenching almost painfully at the back of her neck. His heart slams against her palm and she runs her thumb over the hem of his breast pocket, trying to soothe the staccato beat. A hot rush of air brushes over her crown as he finally exhales, his body curling around hers, left arm sliding down to circle her waist.

"I know," he breathes and she laughs, a fluttering thing that tickles her throat, pulls her lips up into a shy smile. His face is a mask of unadulterated joy when she looks up at him, finds the reflection of the lights shining like stars in his eyes. A large palm cups her cheek as he dips his head, lips soft and reverent at her own, a smiling kiss that curls her toes, stirs the mass of butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Castle smiles when he pulls away, cradles her loose body to his chest. "I love you too."

"I know," she grins, lifting her hand to run her fingers over the line of his jaw. "You might've mentioned it a time or two."

Her heart flips when he barks out a startled laugh, relief and happiness zipping through her veins. He kisses her again, urgent and full of need, his hand fisting in the back of her sweater, fingers diving into her hair as he takes and takes from her mouth, his tongue hot and relentless.

She squeaks when he shifts, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he stands, his hands shifts down to grip her ass.

"Where're we going?" She giggles the question into the side of neck, her mouth dragging over his flushed skin.

"Gotta get in bed before Santa shows up, Beckett. Unless you want to end up on the naughty list."

He stumbles when she wraps her lips around his ear, rolling her tongue over the soft flesh. "If Santa knew half the things I'm planning to do to you, Rick," she whispers, nails scraping across his shoulders, "I'd have a permanent spot at the top of that list."

The bed shakes when she lands on it, her hands already reaching for the hem of her sweater as she bounces. Castle's eyes roam over her body, hot and feral, as she strips the shirt off, tosses it over his shoulder. Broad palms slip around her ribs, thumbs sweeping under the red lace of her bra as he pulls her up against his chest. His mouth closes over the curve of her shoulder, the soft words muffled and hot against her skin, dragging a laughing moan from her throat.

"God bless us, everyone."


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: **This is Liv's fault. She sent me on a Reba spiral last night that culminated in repeated listens of "If I Had Only Known". Yeah. So, you know, yell at her for this. Or Reba.

Also, someone expressed concern over my recent spate of angsty stories, said they were worried that there was something going on in my life to inspire this. I assure you that the content and tone of these stories are in no way related to any personal issues I might be having. I don't need to "take a happy pill" as one reviewer so kindly phrased it. I write the ideas that speak to me. The ones that move and compel me. That's all.

* * *

He wishes he had known.

If he'd known, he would have gotten up with her that morning. He'd have followed her into the shower, laughing at her exasperation when he did more touching than helping, trailing kisses across her wet back as she bent over to shave her legs. He would have watched her get ready, propped up against the edge of the counter while she put on her makeup, wrangled with her hair. Brought her coffee as she stood in front of the closet with her head cocked to the side, fingers drumming lightly over her bare hips while she tried to decide on an outfit. He would have kissed her at the front door, his hands holding her face, tracing over the lines and curves, committing her to memory.

Or maybe he would have tugged her back into the bed, pinned her body under his. Taken his time with her, made sure she _felt_ it. Felt how much he loves her, how he loses himself in the pull of her body, the softness of her skin. He'd have worshipped her slowly, the drag of his lips and the sweep of his fingers twisting her spine into a trembling arch, his name rolling off her tongue in waves. He'd have looked into her eyes as she cried out, her nails clawing at his back, her ankles hooked over his thighs. He would have kissed her deeply, poured his soul into her lungs in the vain hope that his love would be enough.

He'd have kept her on the phone. Made her talk to him about everything and nothing while he closed his eyes, let the sound of her voice, so low and sweet, wash over him. He would have memorized all her words, etched them into the deepest recesses of his brain, branded them onto his heart. He would have begged her to say it over and over, to say that she loved him, wanted him, needed him. He would have made her tell him her surprise over the phone instead of letting her tease him with it, would have insisted that she come home immediately to celebrate with him.

He would have been there. He would have cradled her body to his chest, whispering words of comfort, driving the fear in her eyes away with the force of his love. He would have held her hand, stroked her face, made her promise not to give up, not to leave him. He would have been struck by nauseating déjà vu as he canted himself over her sprawled out body and confessed his love, told her she had to be okay because he had a ring hidden in the back of his sock drawer and a blessing from her father.

If he had known, he could have stopped it.

He wouldn't have gotten the phone call that sent him scrambling out of his office, frantically searching for shoes as Esposito's choking voice spilled out of the phone he'd left abandoned on his desk. He wouldn't have gone careening into the Emergency Room like a madman, his lungs burning as he begged for someone, anyone, to tell him something. There would have been no twelve hours spent in the ICU waiting room, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the too white linoleum. He would have heard the news that he was going to be a father again from her lips, not a stodgy old man with sympathy in his voice and coldness in his eyes.

He wouldn't be sitting here, day after day, keeping vigil by her bed, listening to the incessant click and whir of the machines. Watching the twin heartbeats flicker on the monitors, hers steady and slow, the other wild and rampaging. Her hand wouldn't be cold and waxy under his. His heart wouldn't foolishly leap into his throat every time she twitched or sighed. Her eyes would be open, bright and green. She would say his name and pull his hand to her stomach, let him feel the first fluttering kicks of their baby. He would be able to kiss her, feel the warm slick of her tongue pushing against his as she sighed, her fingers curling into his skin, her body molding around his. She'd answer in kind when he whispered his love to her, blood rushing hot through his veins.

He wishes he had known.


	31. Chapter 31

**AN:** Someone on Tumblr asked me what I think Beckett does on her days off and this popped into my head. I doubt it's the kind of answer they were looking for but it's what my brain came up with.

* * *

His hand is hot against hers. Too hot to be comfortable but she holds on anyway, enjoys the way his thick fingers spread hers apart, the slick glide of his palm when their shoulders bump. The sun glints off the buildings as they stroll, quick flashes that make her heart skip an occasional beat, her muscles jump. She knows he can tell, is trying not to ask if she's okay, if she wants to go home; back to the comfort of his loft or her apartment, where they can strip off their clothes and sprawl across the bed, let the cool rush of air from the vents dry their sweat soaked bodies. Her thumb rubs over the back of his knuckle and he looks down at her. She can see her smile reflected back off the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses, is relieved to see that her face is open and relaxed, the lines of tension smooth.

"I'm fine."

"I didn't say anything."

Kate just smiles and leans into him, her shoulder bumping against the back of his bicep. The tight cotton of his shirt stretches over his back and arms and she has to remind herself that they're in public when the urge to run her mouth over him, to trace the lines of his muscles with the flat of her tongue, surges up. It's been over a week and they still can't get enough. She's honestly not sure that they ever will.

They turn the corner, the park coming into view, and Castle finally gives in to his curiosity.

"Where are you taking me, Beckett? It's hotter than hell out here and I can think of about fifteen more enjoyable ways I'd like to sweat with you."

"Only fifteen?"

"The heat has compromised my creativity."

Kate laughs, tugging him off the pavement and onto the lawn. The grass is springy under the thin soles of her flip flops, thin blades that scrape along the sides of her feet, make her want to lay down and stare at the clouds. "Suck it up, Castle. Just a little while longer. Then we can go back to the loft and you can cool off in that ridiculously oversized shower of yours."

"I seem to recall you being a fan of that ridiculously oversized shower this morning. And last night. And on Tuesday." He grins at and she can tell he's leering behind his glasses. Kate spots the bench- old and wooden, the middle sagging from years of abuse and exposure - and aims them toward it. "You were an _extremely_ vocal fan on Tuesday."

Ignoring him, she pulls him onto the bench, pulling her feet up onto the rough wood, knees pressed to her chest. Castle props his elbow on the backrest, the leaves from the overhanging branch casting a shadow over his face, and watches her, waiting. She rests her chin on her knees, fingers wrapped around her own ankles. The park is busy, full of screaming children and barking dogs, every piece of playground equipment occupied, the sloping lawn dotted with bodies. Music floats on the air, gentle guitar licks from a street musician, and she closes her eyes, lets the sun beat down on her exposed skin, pulling it tight across her muscles, holding her together.

"I used to come here on my days off," she starts, her voice small but strong. Castle's hand swirls over the back of her shoulder, tracing the damp strap of her tank top. She leans back a little, presses her weight into the tips of his fingers. "I'd bring a book or a magazine and sit on this bench for hours, just reading and watching. It was peaceful. I liked the noise and the people, those annoying ducks." She nods at the pond to their left and he chuckles, fingers sweeping up over her neck. "It relaxed me, helped me let go of the stress of work. Dealing with you."

"Hey -"

He retaliates by tugging on her hair, twisting into the tendrils that have fallen out of her bun. Kate lets him tilt her head back and steal a kiss, his lips fast and warm. She slides her hand over to his knee, watches her fingers trail over the coarse hair sprouting on his thigh, dipping under the loose hem of his shorts. His toes curl against his flip flops when she uses her nails, breath catching in his chest.

"Stop that," he hisses, more pleasure than admonishment in his voice. "Unless you want to get arrested for committing lewd acts in public."

"Maybe some other time," she hums, unfolding her knees, letting her legs tangle with his. "It's been over a year since I've been here." His hand falls to her shoulder, his thumb rubbing over the spot where her collarbone connects to the rounded joint. "I - I tried once. About four months after the shooting. I wanted so much to get back to normal, to have at least one thing that could be like it was before. I wanted to prove to myself that I was getting better. That I didn't have PTSD and that even if I did I could damn well control it."

Castle stays silent, his face trained away from her, and she's grateful for it. They're still settling into this, into telling each other the things they only ever said in life or death situations or through loaded subtext and heated looks. She's not used to it, to giving in to the urge to tell him things. To tell him how happy he makes her, how much she loves being with him. How he makes her life easier, better, and that she wants so very badly to be able to do the same for him. It's going to take a while, she knows, but they're working on it, the words slowly unknotting themselves, slipping out in broken confessions in the middle of the night.

"It was a nightmare. I was here for less than five minutes before it all started to - I guess I was having flashbacks? There was a group of kids playing a game on the lawn. Red Rover or something, I don't know. All I really remember is that it involved a lot of screaming. And I kept hearing it in my head - the funeral, everyone screaming after I was shot. The sun was out that day and it caught just right on the water and I freaked." She looks at him then, his face a mask of shadows through the dark lenses of her sunglasses. "I don't even remember how I got home. The next thing I knew, I was in my bedroom, crouching in the corner with a gun in my hand."

"Kate -" The word is strangled and he turns to her, pulling her into his side. She can feel the sweat soaking through his shirt, the way his ribs are hitching against hers.

"It's okay," she assures him, her hand rising to his chest, landing over his heart. "I'm okay now. This - that's why we're here. Because I _can_ be. I can sit here on this bench with you and be okay."

"Okay," he sighs, his lips brushing over her forehead. "Okay."

A gust of hot wind pushes past them, rustling the leaves overhead. Kate closes her eyes and drops her head to his chest, lets the minutes slip by, the steady pound of his heart the only marker of the passing time. She's here with him and, for the first time in over a year, she truly is okay.


	32. Chapter 32

**AN:** I decided I wanted to write angsty Christmas fic. That's what this is. Fair warning.

* * *

The phone buzzes across the nightstand, yanking him out of a restless sleep. Castle groans and reaches out, swiping at the wooden table until his fingers hit plastic. The bright light of the touch screen blinds him as he squints at the display, tries to make his brain process the information his eyes are relaying. Flopping over on his back, he answers the call, the phone cold against his cheek.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Holding a deep breath, he closes his eyes and listens, tries to ignore the anxious thump of his heart. He hears it after a moment, a faint hitch filtering down the line, halting respiration that floods his senses, sends his pulse skyrocketing.

"Kate?" He can hear the desperate hope in his voice, the raw, aching need for it to be her, for this to be real. "Kate, please say something. Just - I need - please."

"I miss you."

The sound of her voice, tiny and so very broken, stops his heart, pulls moisture to his eyes. He chokes around her name, throat constricting as he rolls to his side, fights against the sickening twist of his stomach. He hears her mumbling something about going and he yells, the need to stop her burning in his chest.

"No, don't," he pleads, voice thick with tears. "Please. Just for a minute."

"I shouldn't have called."

"But you did."

"This just makes it harder, Castle."

"I don't care." The sound of his name on her lips pulls at him, makes him want to hear it over and over. Makes him remember all the ways he's heard it before. All the ways he may never hear it again. "I haven't heard your voice in almost two months, Kate. I'm not letting you hang up on me after less than a minute." He takes her silence as acquiescence. "Where are you?"

"Castle -"

"Just tell me where you are. I'll come to you."

"You can't. You know that." She sighs and he closes his eyes, imagines where she might be. Pictures her curled up on a bed somewhere, her hair falling over the pillow. Or maybe tucked into a chair, knees pulled up to her chest as she stares out the window, watching the night sky. "Did you get the papers?"

"Yes and I'm not signing them."

"Rick. You -"

"No. You left. Fine. That was what you felt you had to do. But I'm not signing the papers. I'm not letting you divorce me from- wherever the hell you are."

"You know why I left."

"Yeah," he huffs petulantly, "I know. To keep us all safe." He spits the words out, bitter and stinging. "But tell me how sending me divorce papers - papers you must have had drawn up before you left - how is that part of keeping us safe, Kate?"

The line goes quiet and he pulls the phone away, checks to make sure the call is still connected. The seconds tick over as the screen lights up, the signal still strong and open. He presses the phone back to his ear and rolls over, trapping it between his head and the pillow. The comforter is heavy and warm around his body and with his eyes closed, her gentle breaths floating out of the speaker, he can almost pretend. Almost let himself believe.

"Kate?"

"I don't want to fight with you, Castle. Not tonight."

"Neither do I. I just -" He trails off, too many words tangled in the base of his throat. He misses her. Wants her, needs her. Is pissed as hell at her. "I'm sorry."

"I wish I was there."

"You could be," he interjects, resentment pressing hard against his chest.

"I was walking by a store yesterday," she continues, ignoring him, "and they had a little train set up in the window. A whole village with fake snow and little plastic people. Made me think of you last year. Watching you sprawled across the living room floor, running your train around and around the base of the tree." She sighs, wistful. "I wish I could see what you've done to the loft."

"There's nothing to see."

"What?"

"I didn't decorate."

"Wh- why?"

Her voice cracks and he pulls his legs up, hands shoved hard between his knees. He wants so badly to hold her, to feel her body tucked into his, warm and soft and eternally inviting. Castle presses his cheek into the pillow, seeking the comfort of her long dissipated scent.

"Didn't see the point. Alexis is in California and my mother is with her new boyfriend. You're not here."

"But what about -" She stumbles and he hears her choke around the word, a harsh sniff assaulting his eardrum.

"She's six months old, Kate," he whispers, his heart breaking as he listens to her sob in earnest. "She has no idea what's going on. She'll never know what she missed."

"It's her first Christmas, Rick."

"I know. I got a little ornament, had it engraved with her name and the year. We'll keep it, use it next year. When you're back."

A pause, long and pregnant. "How is she?"

The question is timid, as though she thinks she doesn't have the right to ask it. Part of him wants to agree. Wants to tell her that she left him, them, and has no right to do this. To call him in the middle of the night and reopen his wounds, make him ache anew. His eyes flick to the baby monitor on the nightstand, the green light steady as the sound of their daughter's snuffling breaths come floating out of the speaker. He can't.

"She's amazing. Getting bigger all the time." He tries to put a smile in his voice, isn't quite successful. "Your dad comes to get her twice a week. Lanie and the guys come by when they can, bring her more toys and books than she'll be able to use in a lifetime." He stops, debating his next words. Her breath hitches again and he goes for it. "She misses you, though."

"Don't. Don't use - don't guilt me. I'm doing this for her. For you."

"How is being away from -"

"Castle, _please_," she begs. "Please don't. Not tonight."

He doesn't respond, just stays still, eyes cast across her empty side of the bed. Kate's breathing evens out, syncs with the gentle drift coming out of the monitor. His eyes slip shut without his permission as he remembers it, being in bed with her and their daughter, listening to them both breathe as the night slowly made way for the dawn. It's a false memory, a trick of his brain, but he lets himself sink into it, lets the illusion envelope him for as long as he can. As long as she'll let him.

"I should go," she whispers, a heavy layer of regret coating the words.

"Can I reach you on this number?"

"No. It's a burner and I've been on it for too long. I'm going to have to ditch it tomorrow."

"Kate -"

"Give her a kiss for me, okay? Tell her - tell her I love her and miss her."

"I already do that. Every day."

A rush of air hits his eardrum, loud and shaky.

"I love you," she breathes. "I love you so much."

"_I_ love _you_. And I'll be here, Kate. Whenever you come back. I'll be here."

"Merry Christmas, Castle."

The line clicks and she's gone.

Castle pulls the phone out from under his ear and reaches over, puts it on her cold, unused pillow. He knows that sleep won't return, not now, not when he can still hear her voice, a fading echo that settles down inside his chest, smothering his heart.

Sighing, he slips out of the bed and steps into his slippers before making his way through the dark loft and climbing the stairs. The need to be with her, to hold some piece of her close to him, pushes him into his daughter's room. The baby stirs when he scoops her out of the crib, cradles her warm little body to his chest. Her eyes, framed by impossibly long lashes, flutter open and she gives him a toothless smile, sleepy and lopsided, before burrowing into him, thumb moving to her mouth like a magnet. He drops down into the glider and pulls a blanket over them, rocks their daughter as the flurries start to fall outside the window.


	33. Chapter 33

**AN:** Someone on Tumblr asked me about when I thought Beckett first started to fantasize about Castle. I thought about it and this happened. Also, this one might be verging fairly close to M territory but I think I just squeaked by and kept it a strong T.

* * *

The first time had been a complete shock.

She had been tired, her body dangling off the thin edge of exhaustion, muscles coiled too tightly around her aching bones. The bath had done nothing to relax her, had only resulted in making her light headed and hot, her skin red and too tight. She'd crawled into her bed naked, slithering between the thin sheets with a sigh. Sleep was slow in coming and she was desperate to hasten its arrival, ready to give herself over to the blissful oblivion of darkness. Her hands wandered with purpose, sliding over her skin, seducing herself with the sure pressure of her palms, fingers hitting all the hidden alcoves she'd discovered years before.

She'd gasped, hips pressed hard into the bed, when his face - bright eyes and laughing mouth, stubble scattered along his chin - flickered across her mind, his teasing voice echoing in her ears. Her body had reacted in an instant, coming apart under her hands in a crashing wave of release, his name strangled in her chest. Adrenaline hummed in her veins as she stared at the ceiling, watched the shadows dance. She fell asleep arguing with herself, trying like hell to believe that it was just stress and overexposure. She vowed to cut back on the time she spent with him, no big loss there, assured herself that he'd be done with his stupid book soon and out of her life, vanishing just as quickly as he'd arrived.

Avoidance was impossible. He was like a puppy, always on her heels, panting questions into her ear, barking out jokes and puns. She pushed him away, rolled her eyes, ignored him. But still he remained, burrowing deeper into her life, sneaking into her fantasies. Ruining her slowly with heated gazes and all too tempting propositions. She fought it. Clung to the dwindling hope that it was just a passing physical attraction, that she craved only his body and the pleasure it could bring her. She'd let Will back into her life, her bed, tried not to picture Castle's face as he'd hovered over her on bent arms, his hair too light and body too narrow.

Escape had arrived wearing a suit of betrayal and her anger won out, forced all thoughts of him - his inviting mouth and big hands, the way his jeans hung so perfectly from his hips - out of her mind for awhile. She'd built another wall around herself and dug in her heels, refused to be swayed. He'd paced along the border, poking his fingers into cracks and kicking at the loose rocks until he found a weakness he could exploit, a sly grin dancing across his lips when he'd slipped back through like a thief.

He became a regular fixture in her fantasies over time, her body brought to the edge by the thought of his over and over. She'd slowly stopped fighting it, gave herself over to the constant thoughts of him. The way his body would feel under hers, how his hands would dwarf her waist, the sounds he would make as she pulled him along with her, his chest heaving as he called out her name. The desire she worked so hard to suppress in his presence broke free at night, burning bright and hot in the pit of her stomach as she writhed across her bed, in her shower, on her couch.

Jealousy reared its head, her body aching to stake a claim she had no right to when she saw him with other women.

Shame followed along after when she kissed another man and wished it was him.

Regret stayed the longest, made itself a home inside her chest, smothering her heart, piping up to remind her that he was gone every time her palms began to itch, fingers curling against the give of her thighs.

She'd blocked him out for almost a year. Managed to lock him away in the recesses of her mind, pretending it was all just a distant dream, something from another life. A life that never was, could never be.

Until the night he'd kissed her in a darkened alley.

The long repressed desire swelled instantly, leaving her aching and damp, with danger breathing down her neck. All she wanted was to drag him up against a wall, make him follow through on the promises he'd written across her skin with the press of his lips and the hot sweep of his tongue. But then -

Guilt.

Anger.

Pain.

She'd hurt him. With her absence, her untruths, her inability to let him in the way they both so desperately wanted. She'd hurt him and so she punished herself. Ignored the needs of her body, denied herself pleasure as she had denied him the truth. Denied him her. She longed to let herself go, to give in to the images that haunted her mind, to let herself have him, even if only in fantasy. But she - she already used him so much in the daylight hours, she couldn't let herself take advantage of him at night as well. He waited. And so would she.

And then -

_Oh._

Freedom.

Now, she's stretched across his bed, naked and sweating, his head cradled against her breast as he watches her. Watches what he does to her, the way his words and his body and his love make her weep with need, her spine arch, her muscles quiver. He murmurs against her skin, tells her again and again that she's beautiful, that he loves her, that he is so happy that they're finally here, together. She wants to respond, wants to thank him for the light he brought back into her life, for helping her find the pieces of herself she'd lost along the way, for the way his hands steadied hers as she learned how to fit them all back together again. She wants to tell him how much she loves him but the words hang in her chest as her fingers, so clever and practiced, dance between her legs, an encore performance for a ravenous crowd.

The first time had been a complete shock but this - this was inevitable.


	34. Chapter 34

The end comes quietly.

No yelling, no arguments; just a silent acceptance of what they both already know.

It's over.

They've been fighting it for weeks, trying desperately to convince themselves and each other that they can make it through this. That it will be okay, the magic solution is just around the corner. The light will click on, illuminating their path back to happiness. To each other.

But magic isn't real and darkness pervades.

They're in her kitchen, the weight of a long day pressing down on their shoulders. His arms are heavy on her waist, fingers digging sharply into her aching muscles. She can feel the shudder on his chest as he holds back the tears, trying so hard to be the strong one. Her own tears stain his shirt, her body shaking in the circle of his arms.

"I should go."

The words are a knife to her chest, splitting her open, spilling the shards of her shattered heart across the floor. She shakes her head, the spicy scent of his cologne filling her lungs.

"No."

"Kate -"

"Just - stay. For tonight. Please."

He sighs, one hand rising to cradle the back of her skull. "That's only going to make it harder."

"I know." She digs the tips of her fingers into his back, pulls him closer. "I know. But I - I need you." Her voice breaks. "Just one more night."

Castle nods slowly, his chin brushing over her temple. He moves to pull away and she clings to him, not caring how weak she's letting herself be, how vulnerable. She knows she's being unfair, asking him to stay and help her make it through this when he's hurting just as much as she is but - she can't do it alone. Not tonight.

His hands are warm and gentle as they pry her body away from his. "Let's go to bed, Kate."

He takes her by the hand, leads her to her bedroom. Tears stream down her face as he presses her down onto the edge of the mattress and kneels down to pull off her heels. She crawls into the center of the bed fully clothed and he slides in next to her, pulls her into his chest. Their legs knot together and she fists her fingers into his shirt, breathing him in. She tries to push it away, to not think about how this is the last time they'll be this way. The last time she'll feel the solid wall of his chest pressed against hers as he holds her, his fingers running through her hair, his breath falling softly onto her neck.

She cries in earnest, her ribs aching with the force of her sobs, scars pulled tight. Castle whispers words of comfort into her ear, promising her it's going to be okay. She wants to yell at him, call him a liar. It's not going to be okay. She's not. Might not ever be again.

"Don't," she chokes. "Just - stop."

He falls silent, hands roaming gently over her back. Her tears run dry eventually, leaving her eyes burning, her mouth an arid desert. Castle presses a kiss to her forehead and she feels the dampness on his lips, realizes that he's been silently grieving above her. The pieces of her heart shatter again, slicing at her lungs, her stomach, her veins. Kate burrows deeper into him, fitting their bodies as tightly together as she can. Sleep pulls at her and she rails against it, not willing to miss a second of this, of him. Them. She rubs her face into his shirt, desperate to stay awake.

"You should sleep," he murmurs, the words soft and full of so much concern.

"I don't want to."

"You're exhausted."

"Will you -" She falters, the words sticking in her throat. "Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Yes."

She lets her body relax into him, lets the alluring fog of unconsciousness roll slowly over her. "I love you," she breathes, lips pressed to the hollow of his throat. "I love you, Castle."

"I know." He dips his head, tucks his chin into the curve of her neck. "I know. I love you too. So much, Kate."

"I'm going to miss you."

"Me too. Every day."

She falls asleep to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the gentle pound of his heart. Tomorrow is going to hurt but tonight -

Tonight he's going to stay.


	35. Chapter 35

**AN**: This will be the last thing from me for a while. The constant stream of negativity regarding the content of the stories I choose to tell has really put me off fic writing. Thanks to everyone that has been supportive and kind. Later.

* * *

The music is soft, a gentle melody that hums in time with her heart, making her feel like it exists only for them, that no one else could ever hear it or appreciate it. Not like this. The notes fall perfectly in sync with their steps, the soft sway of their bodies a metronome for the bass line. He plays her like a fine instrument as they dance - one hand caressing her neck, applying the perfect amount of pressure to make her body sing when he strokes the other across the bridge of her spine. She sighs into his shoulder, fingers curling around the satin lapel of his jacket.

"Is that a happy sigh or an 'I can't believe I let Castle talk me into this' sigh?"

"Which do you think?"

"Well -" he spins them in a slow circle, warm breath washing over her skin - "I'm hoping for the former but since our sartorial choices and location are in direct opposition at the moment, I can't eliminate the latter as an option."

"You mean since we're dancing in the middle of your living room in formal wear?"

"Yeah."

Kate smiles, lifting her head to look at him. "It was a happy sigh, Castle." She presses her lips to his jaw, lingers. "A very happy sigh."

"So you're not annoyed that I made you put on this dress only to spend the night cooped up here?"

She lifts an eyebrow. "Made me?"

"That's not what I- What I meant was - Damn it."

Laughing, she drops her head back to his shoulder, wraps her arms more tightly around him. The sharp spice of his cologne mixes with the earthy scent of pine from the tree and she breathes it in, lets the smell coalesce into a memory, something she can hold inside her chest after the night is over.

"I know what you meant. And no, I'm not annoyed. I was just surprised but in really good way."

"Yeah?"

She shivers when his lips skim the sensitive skin behind her ear; nose pressed into the cascade of curls she'd left down for warmth when she'd thought their plans for the evening included the Mayor's charity ball and its outdoor patio. "Yeah, Castle. I like it here with you." She pinches the lobe of his ear, grinning when he retaliates with a nip to her jaw. "But -"

His hand slides from her neck, across her skin, until his palm cups her bare shoulder, fingers lightly stroking her collarbone. "What?"

"Why?"

"Why are we here and not in a packed ballroom with hundreds of people you don't know?" She nods, her hair rustling against his jacket. "Because I want this to be about us. I want to hold you as close as I want while we dance and not have to worry about photographers or rumors. I want to kiss you at midnight and not have to wait another two hours to pull you into my bed. I want to let this year - which has been one of the worst and best of my life - go in peace, with you by my side." Castle presses his lips to her temple, breath shaky in his throat. "I want you. That's all. Just you."

The lights from the tree shimmer in his eyes when she pulls back to look at him, runs her fingers over the sharp line of his cheek. Her thumb dips into the happy wrinkles at the corner of his eye when she cups his ear, brings his smiling mouth to hers. The music fades out as she kisses him, her tongue sweeping over his lips, her hand sliding down to tug at the knot in his tie, push the heavy tuxedo jacket from his shoulders. The heat from his fingers burns through the silk at her waist, lighting a fire that licks up her spine and twists through her ribs, setting her heart aflame inside her chest. Castle groans and pulls away, rests his forehead against hers.

"It's not midnight yet," he pants as her fingers flick at the tiny pearl buttons on his shirt. The hem of her dress lifts, his hands fisting tightly into the material when she drags her lips over his neck, dips her tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat.

"Well," she hums, pushing him back toward the door to his office, "you know what they say; whatever you're doing at midnight is what you'll end up doing all year. And to ensure that next year is a happy one, what I'd _really_ like to be doing at midnight is -"

"Me?" His hands slide to her ass, tugging her hips into his as they shuffle toward his room.

"Exactly." She laughs as his back hits the doorframe, a strangled noise of surprise rattling in his chest. "You can still kiss me at midnight, Castle. Though," she leans in, lets her lips brush over his ear, "there's no rule that says it has to be on my mouth."


	36. Chapter 36

They spend the day at the precinct.

She's in the middle of a case, her desk covered with open files and highlighters, and he sits quietly in the chair next to her, a stoic sentinel. She wants to be annoyed with him, with the way he's looking at her, his eyes so gentle, mouth pulled into a soft line of concern, but she can't. Not this year. She'd woken up in his bed that morning, with the reassuring warmth of his body pressed against hers and his fingers stroking through her hair, expecting him to try to talk her out of going to work but he'd just dusted a kiss across her forehead, pushing her toward the shower before padding into the kitchen to start the coffee. They travel to the Twelfth in comfortable silence, his arm stretched across the gap between their seats, fingers tenderly massaging the back of her neck as she fought her way through the throng of morning traffic.

The day passes with little acknowledgment of its significance, just soft nods from the boys when she exits the elevator and a quick phone call from Lanie.

And Castle's quiet but constant presence at her side.

He helps her sift through phone records and financials. Brings her coffee and lunch. Watches as she makes phone calls and confirms alibis. Sits next to her at the cold metal table in the interrogation room whiles she systematically dismantles their suspect, pulling a confession from him in under an hour.

He never asks if she's okay.

It's not the first time she's spent this day in his company but it is the first time she's allowed him to really see her. To see the slow creep of it, the way she starts the day with a firm resolve not to lose herself and then gradually sinks into the emotions, letting them swirl inside her chest until she can't pretend anymore. Until the crack in the wall gives way, splitting her open, leaving her raw and exposed.

She finally breaks on the way home, the tears springing into her eyes with suddenness that knocks her off balance, robbing the air from her lungs like a thief. Castle's hand wraps around her knee and she covers it with her own, gripping his fingers so fiercely that the skin blanches white, his fingernails turning purple. Blinking furiously, she navigates her cruiser into a spot near her building and lets him wrap an arm around her shoulder as they make their way to her apartment, her body leaning heavily into his. The keys rattle in her hand and he reaches over, pulling them gingerly from her grasp and unlocking her door, twisting the sticky lock with practiced ease.

They head straight for her bedroom and Castle pushes her down on the edge of the mattress, sliding her coat down her arms before dropping to a crouch and tugging off her heels. She trades her work clothes for the pajamas he hands her and crawls into the middle of the bed, watching as he strips down to his undershirt and boxers before climbing in next to her. His arms wrap around her back as she curls into him, her ribs hitching with tiny hiccups while she cries herself to sleep.

The sharp trill of her phone startles her into consciousness. Castle grabs it from the nightstand and passes it to her before slipping out of the bed, leaving her to talk to her dad in private. She watches him go, fingers wrapped around the hard plastic case of her phone, heart clenching tightly in her chest.

An array of white cartons decorate the counter when she emerges from the bedroom an hour later, her eyes itchy and swollen. He smiles when she sits at the island and picks up a pair of chopsticks, the smell of the food making her stomach rumble. They eat quietly, passing cartons back and forth until they've had their fill. Castle packs away the food and follows her back into the bedroom, kissing her quickly before disappearing into her bathroom.

Steam billows out when he opens the door again and she watches him cross the room, his wet hair sticking out in all directions. She pulls the covers back for him, rolling on her side as he stretches out next to her.

"Thank you," she whispers, reaching across the tiny distance between them and resting her hand on his cheek.

"You have nothing to thank me for, Kate."

"Yeah, I do. I have so much more to thank you for than you know. " The urge to move over to him, hide her face in his neck, tingles through her limbs but she stays still, thumb brushing lightly against his temple. She wants him to be able to see her face for this. Wants to see his. "My mom loved a good murder mystery. She read them all, anything she could get her hands on. Kept a stack of them next to her bed. Dad and I used to pick on her about it but she just laughed us off and kept reading. I don't really know why she liked them. Never took the time to ask. I want to think it's because justice was always served and the good guys always won in the end but I think that's probably an overly romanticized view of it. More than likely she just liked that they were light reads. Something she could easily lose herself in."

Castle's face is carefully blank as she speaks but his eyes give him away, the sparkle of curiosity flaring in the dim light of the moon.

"My dad moved out of the apartment for a while after she died. He just couldn't take it, being surrounded by her stuff. So it was my job to pack it all up." She shrugs and slides her hand down his arm, twisting her fingers through his. "I donated most of her clothes to charity, packed away the heirlooms and knickknacks. I brought a few things home with me though, including the stack of books on her nightstand. I read them all." She moves closer to him, cradling their joined hands against her chest. "It was the first time I read one of your books. Hell Hath No Fury."

"Kate -"

"I went to the library after I finished," Kate presses on, needing to get it out, "and checked out everything of yours I could find. Spent a month reading them." She meets his eyes, feels her stomach knot at the emotion she finds there. "It got me through, Castle. _You_ got me through."

He tugs her into him, one arm banding across her back, the other wrapping tightly around her shoulder. She lets herself sink into him, the soapy scent of his skin filling her lungs. Castle presses damp lips to her temple, a shaky sigh hanging in his throat.

"Thank you," he breathes, his fingers digging into her shoulder. "Thank you for telling me that."

Kate nods, her nose bumping into his chin. Castle rolls to his back, pulling her along with him until her body is draped halfway across his chest. His arms go slowly slack, his breathing growing deeper, and she drifts easily off to sleep, the steady thump of his heart under her ear.


	37. Chapter 37

The room is barren, the concrete walls stark and forbidding, the metal table cold under his palm. He looks up when the door opens, heart in his throat as he watches the older man shuffle in, eyes wide with shock. The chains binding his wrists to his waist rattle as his hands shake, the loose orange jumpsuit hanging limply off his too thin frame. The guard is gentle as he unlocks the cuffs from the chains; he pats the man softly on the shoulder after he reconnects them to the metal ring on the table and then takes a step back, trying to give them at least the illusion of privacy.

"Hey, Dad."

Tears shimmer in the older man's eyes as he stares, his lips pulled thin over his teeth. The gray in his hair looks dull under the yellow lights, the lines on his face deep and long.

"Michael." His voice cracks and the young man's stomach rolls at the pain contained in the single word. "It's so good to see you. You look -" The old man trails off, his throat convulsing. Michael doesn't need him to finish the sentence. He knows what he looks like. _Who _he looks like. He's heard it his entire life. "How are you?"

"I'm well. I got a job with a hospital in the city, found a nice apartment in a good neighborhood, met a girl. But you already know all of that, don't you?"

The old man nods, fingertips drawing aimless patterns over the table top. "Alexis tells me things. I know you asked her not to," Castle's voice waivers, the words reedy and apologetic, "but I -"

"It's okay, Dad," Michael cuts him off, his chest tight with emotion and regret. "I was a stupid kid when I told her that. It wasn't fair of me. She was right to tell you." Castle sighs, relief washing over his face. "I guess she told you that I'm getting married?"

"She did." His dad nods and gives a tiny grin, light flickering in his eyes for the first time. "She said it took you five years to get around to asking the question, though, which she says is proof that idiocy is hereditary."

Michael laughs, the knot in his chest loosening. "Yeah, she told me the same thing." He raises his voice in a terrible imitation of his sister. "'Mikey, you're being an idiot. That girl is far too good for you but she loves you, for reasons I can't even begin to imagine at the moment, and if you don't ask her to marry you soon, you're going to lose her.'" Castle chuckles, dry and rasping, and Michael can hear the years of loss and loneliness rattling inside his chest. "I bought a ring the next day."

"And she said yes."

"And she said yes. I was worried for a minute that she wouldn't, that I had waited too long but -" He closes his eyes for a moment, lets the image of his fiancée's face fill his mind, driving the creeping sadness back into the shadows. "Ashley is amazing. She really is far too good for me. She understands why it took me so long. Why I was -" Michael stops, his mouth suddenly dry.

"You were scared." The words are quiet, knowing.

"Yeah." He looks at his father, tries to picture him as the man he remembers; his face younger and less haggard, eyes full of life and mischief and so much love. "I was scared. I was so closed off for so long that the thought of letting someone in, letting her get close, terrified me. I was afraid -" He stumbles, feels the tears press against his eyes. "I was afraid that I would lose her. That one day I would have to do what you did."

"Michael, no."

"I get it now." He reaches across the table finally, places his hands over his father's. The older man's skin is paper thin and dry under his palms and Michael has to swallow the sob forming on the back of his tongue. "I get it. I was so angry at you for so many years but I was too young and naïve to understand why you did it. I thought it was - I thought you didn't love her enough to try to save her but now I know it was because you loved her enough to let her go."

Tears roll down Castle's face, dripping off his chin and falling to his chest, staining dark red on his jumpsuit. "She begged me," he chokes, his hands flipping over to grab at Michael's. "I fought her but she begged me. She -"

"I know, Dad. I know." Michael squeezes Castle's hands as tightly as he dares, the bones prominent under his fingers. "She didn't want to live like that. I understand. I remember what it was like for her at the end, the agony she was in. You loved her and you just wanted her to stop hurting."

Castle nods, his chin trembling. "I loved her so much."

"I know," he repeats. "And I want you to know that I'm not angry with you anymore. I wasted too much time on that. Alexis has been telling me for years that I need to forgive you but until I fell in love, until I knew what it was to love someone so deeply that you would be willing to - I just couldn't. And I'm sorry for that, Dad. I'm sorry that I shut you out of my life for so long."

"It's okay, Mikey. I understand. You were just a ten year old kid and I - I was the man who killed your mom."

"It's _not_ okay," Michael insists, leaning over the table. "We both lost her. We should have been able to be there for each other."

"You had your sister and your grandparents."

"Yeah, but I _needed_ my dad."

Silence falls between them, broken only by the soft scrape of soles on concrete as the guard shifts in the corner. Michael rubs circles on the backs of Castle's hands with his thumbs, watching his father quietly cry. He's never let himself think about this before. Never gave credence to the notion that his father was just as broken as he was. Never paid attention to Alexis when she reminded him that he lost his mom but that his dad lost his wife. He regrets it all now, all the wasted years and anger. He knows he can't have that time back but he can do this.

"I want you to come to the wedding."

Castle's eyes open slowly,red rimmed and unfocused. "What? Mikey, I'm -"

"Getting released next year," he interrupts, resolve in his tone. "You're getting released in eight months and I want you at my wedding."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm sure."

"Your fiancée doesn't mind?"

"It was actually her idea." He smiles softly, the memory of that conversation playing in his mind. "She generally knows what I need long before I do."

Castle lets out a wet chuckle. "Yeah, your mom was like that too."

"I remember."

They share a moment of quiet, a sense of peace settling in the room. Michael jumps when the guard steps forward, the keys on his belt jangling.

"I'm sorry," he says with true regret, "but time's up."

Michael sits back, folding his hands in his lap as he watches the guard reverse the process, unhooking the cuffs from the table and resecuring them to the chain hanging around Castle's waist. The kindly guard pauses when Michael stands, reaching out once again to grab his father's hand.

"I'll be back next week. I promise."

Castle nods, eyes still shimmering with tears. "I'd like that."

His fingers bump against the handcuffs when he slides his hand away, watching as the guard slowly leads his dad out of the tiny room. Need builds in his chest, the pressure splintering his ribs.

"Dad?"

The two men pause halfway through the doorway and Castle looks back over his shoulder, brow raised in question.

"I love you."

Castle's eyes slam shut and Michael digs his fingers hard into his thighs, resisting the almost overwhelming need to cross the room and wrap his arms around his father. A tear rolls over his cheek when Castle speaks, his voice thick and croaking.

"I love you too, Mikey."

He watches through the bulletproof window in the door as Castle is lead away, the chain at his waist rattling. Michael feels his heart seize, the long repressed emotions slamming hard through his chest. He misses his mom every day but, he realizes now, he's missed his dad too.


	38. Chapter 38

Sometimes he looks at her like he can't believe she's real. He doesn't think she notices, thinks she can't see the way his eyes widen and the corners of his mouth tilt up. Thinks she doesn't hear the quiet sigh and see his fingers twitch as though he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch her. To reassure himself that she's not an illusion.

But she does notice.

And it breaks her heart.

Almost a year and she still can't say it. Can't open her mouth and set the words free. They flutter at the base of her throat, slam against her ribs, churn in her stomach; assaulting her body in a desperate bid for freedom. She wants to break the seal. Wants nothing more than to let it float off her tongue like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Because it is. Her love for him is the truest, the purest, thing she's ever felt. It fills her up, patches the holes in her heart. It's something she was certain she'd never experience; a kind of love she didn't think herself capable of. Her body sings for him. Her lungs ache to breathe his scent, her skin tingles with the need to slide against his. She wants to be close to him, craves his warmth and the comfort of his presence. wants nothing more than to fold herself into his arms and hear the steady tattoo of his heart under her ear.

She used to wonder what she did to deserve him. What kind of karmic retribution his presence in her life was. She still wonders but for wholly different reasons. He helped her find the courage to open up again, to take off the armor and allow herself to feel. Gave her trust when she didn't deserve it and hope when she needed it. The faith he has in her, in her abilities and her character, astounds her. She wants to make him happy. Wants to give him back even half of what he's given her.

He knows she loves him. He has to. It's evident in the way she speaks to him, in the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her head. She's never been any good at hiding it, knows it's written all over her when he's near. And when he's not. It's part of her. Carved into her bones, etched onto her skin, branded across her heart. Her body flushes with it, a pleasant heat that makes her feel vibrant. Alive

But still she can't tell him. And it scares her. Because she can see the need in his eyes, can see the hurt when another day, week, month passes and she still hasn't said it. She knows he's holding back. He thinks she's not ready, that she'll spook if he lets himself off the chain. Lets himself love her the way he so obviously wants to. The thought, the fear, haunts her daily. What happens when it's not enough for him anymore? When only being allowed to love her with half his heart _breaks_ his heart?

She finds herself grieving for a relationship she's still in. When she's curled up alone in her bed, the shadows stretching long across the floor, she closes her eyes and lets herself mourn. For what they will lose and what they will never have if she can't find the words, the strength. She breathes deeply through it, tries to stave off the panic that washes over her when she imagines a life without him. A life where she drove him away with her insecurities and cowardice. A life she'll have to live on her own, knowing what it's like to be loved by him. To love him.

To lose him.

(She tells him on a Thursday afternoon, walking through the park with his fingers twisted around hers and the wind at their backs. He breathes the words back into her mouth as he kisses her in the middle of the sidewalk, heart pounding under her hands.

She doesn't sleep alone anymore.)


	39. Chapter 39

**AN:** Three guesses about the current state of my immune system.

* * *

The clatter of porcelain on wood pulls her awake. Kate rolls onto her back, head spinning. She aches. Arms, back, legs, stomach, parts of her body she's rarely even conscious of; it all just _hurts_. Her head rests like a rock on the pillow, too heavy for her neck yet oddly disconnected from the rest of her body. She can feel her skin burning as she shivers under the covers, the socks Castle insisted she wear twisted around her toes.

Her lungs spasm, sending her into a violent coughing fit. Tears spring to her eyes as she tries to catch her breath, clutching her sides in a vain attempt to ease the sharp pain in her ribs. She hasn't hurt this badly since the summer she was shot, when the nurses kept shoving that stupid plastic breath strengthener in her face. They told her it was meant to help rebuild her lung capacity and prevent pneumonia but she's still not entirely sure it wasn't just some sort of institutionalized torture.

"You gotta sit up."

She peels her eyes open, blinking blearily. His face swims into focus slowly, brow furrowed in concern as he leans over her.

"I don't want to."

Castle huffs - whether in amusement or annoyance, she not sure - and hooks his hands under her arms, pulling her up to rest against his chest. She buries her face into the crook of his neck, her body rocking as he rebuilds the ramp of pillows she'd destroyed in her sleep. Kate twists her fingers into his shirt as Castle leans forward slowly, transferring her weight back onto the mountain of fluff he's constructed.

He brushes the hair from her face, fingers lingering over her forehead in a poorly disguised attempt to check her temperature since she refuses to use the thermometer he bought. "You need to take more Tylenol."

A pharmacy's worth of over the counter medication decorates the polished wood of the nightstand; boxes of cold medicine - for both day and night, three different brands of cough suppressant, fever reducers, that gross pink liquid for nausea that he keeps forcing on her, mentholated ointment for her chest, tissues, throat lozenges. She'd rolled her bloodshot eyes at him when he'd unpacked the bags. _Bags_. No one should need more than one bag full of medicine.

Castle rummages through the mess and pulls out the bottle of Tylenol. She holds back a groan as the pills rattle against the plastic, sharp bursts of pain exploding behind her eyes with each collision. He hands her two pills and tumbler of Gatorade, watching carefully as she contemplates the medicine.

"I can't," she rasps, voice thick and low. "It hurts too much to swallow."

"You have to. You have a fever."

"You don't know that."

"Just take the damn pills, Beckett." He stares her down, the muscle in his jaw twitching. She capitulates, grimacing as the pills tear down her throat. "God, you're petulant when you're sick."

"And you're a helicopter," she rebuts, handing him back the glass and waving her hand in circle. "Always hovering."

"Did you really expect anything less?"

Kate raises an eyebrow. "Did you?"

"Fair point." Castle nods, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "I brought you some soup."

Kate shakes her head, immediately regretting the action as her stomach rolls. "No."

"It's just broth."

"I can't. I'm barely managing the Gatorade."

"You have to eat a little. Getting dehydrated is the last thing you need right now."

She tracks him with her eyes as he bends over to pick something up off the floor. She loves him but she's about at the end of her rope with this. She's a grown woman and it's just a virus; she can take care of herself. She doesn't need him to buy her medicine and bring her soup. Doesn't want him to jump out of bed at two in the morning to refill the humidifier or get a cool cloth for her forehead. She just wants to be left alone so she can sleep without being woken up to take a different pill every two hours. "Castle -"

He sits back up, a steaming mug clutched in his hand. "Here. Just a few sips, okay?"

Kate stares at him, eyes flicking back and forth from the gentle worry lines on his face to the cup of soup he's holding out for her. It's her favorite mug; purple with little white flowers scattered along the base. She's had it for years now, doesn't even remember where she got it from anymore. It was one of the few things that survived the explosion in her last apartment. She'd almost cried when she found it among the rubble, a tiny crack along the handle the only evidence of the incident. Sentimentality is rare for her; has generally been reserved for things that remind her of her mother, of the life she once lived, but this is different for some reason. The mug usually hangs on a tiny hook next to her coffee maker; she doesn't use it very often but she likes to have it there. Finds a measure of comfort in seeing it, this cup that has been with her through so much.

Much like Castle.

She takes the proffered mug and Castle sighs in relief, a tired smile tilting at his lips. Kate cradles the hot cup to her chest with one hand, reaching out to lay the other against his stubbly cheek. "Thank you."

"It's just soup," he shrugs, pulling her hand from his cheek and pressing a kiss to the center of her palm. She doesn't argue, just curls her fingers around his thumb and brings the mug to her lips. The broth slides down easily, the warmth soothing the aching rawness of her throat. Castle watches her carefully, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing when she takes her third sip.

"So," he says, standing up and walking around to the other side of her bed; his side, "I brought you something."

"Other than the entire cold medicine aisle of CVS?"

"Ah, sarcasm. It's nice to know that the fever you refuse to admit you have hasn't addled your brain." He bends over and she hears plastic rustling. He straightens with his laptop held in one hand and a box set of Temptation Lane DVDs clutched in the other. "Best of Angela Cannon," he says, displaying the box.

She can't stop the smile that pulls at her lips. Her body aches from head to toe but this is the best she's felt in days, sitting here watching him smile at her, so damn proud of himself. Kate pats the empty patch of bed next to her and Castle climbs in, hair flopping down over his forehead. He sets up the laptop and then leans back, shoving the lone pillow he'd left for himself between his back and the headboard, his legs stretched out, ankles crossed. Kate hands him the mug and he puts it on his nightstand as she leans over and rests her head on his chest. Castle wraps an arm around her as the credits start, fingers sweeping up and down her bicep.

"You never told me," he whispers, lips brushing over the top of her head, "which one you were."

"Which what I was?"

"FoxCan or CanFonso, Beckett. Which is it?"

Kate chuckles carefully, not wanting to set off another coughing fit. "Neither. I always wanted her to be with Marcello."

"Who the hell is Marcello?"

"Just watch." She pats him on the stomach and presses her dry lips to his chest as her eyes slip closed, the gentle scent of his aftershave filling her aching lungs. "You'll see."


	40. Chapter 40

_And when he shall die_

_Take him and cut him out in little stars_

_And he will make the face of heaven so fine_

_That all the world will be in love with night_

_And pay no worship to the garish sun_

_~William Shakespeare_

_ Romeo and Juliet - Act 3 Scene 2_

The waves roll softly over the sand, a dance of soothing white noise. Kate focuses on her breathing, tries to time her respiration with the tide. Inhale, crash. Exhale, crash. The grass is cool under her bare feet, the absence of the sun leaving the blades stiff and brittle. Curling her toes under, she presses the tips into the loose soil and closes her eyes.

She loves it out here. He told her once that this patch of lawn where she's standing was his favorite place in the world. She'd laughed at him, told him he was being overly sentimental and cheesy. Castle just shook his head and pulled her closer, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin cotton of her sundress.

"It's not just because of that," he whispered, his lips glancing off her cheek. "I've always loved it here. In this spot, I can let it all go. I can close my eyes and just_ be_. All the stress and the worry and the petty concerns melt away until all that's left is just me and the ocean. It's the one place on Earth where I feel completely at peace." He spun her around until her back rested against his chest, his arms wrapped around her stomach and chin resting on her shoulder. "That's why I proposed here. Why I wanted to get married here. I wanted to share that with you. I wanted you to stand here with me and finally be at peace."

She'd kissed him then, her neck craned back and shoulders digging into his chest; their hands laced over her stomach, wedding bands clicking as he twisted his fingers through hers. She'd dragged him up to the house, left a trail of discarded clothes from the back door to the foot of the stairs. They spent the rest of the day in bed, naked and sated, their bodies molded around one another.

She wishes now, though, that she'd stood out here with him longer. That she'd closed her eyes and felt the peace, his heart beating steadily against her back.

"Kate." Alexis' voice is quiet at her shoulder, her slim fingers slipping between Kate's. "They're ready whenever you are."

Kate opens her eyes, turning to look at the young woman standing at her side. Her skin glows in the moonlight, the tear tracks on her cheeks glittering. The wedding band she now wears sparkles as she wraps her arm protectively over her rounded stomach, fingertips stroking over the stretched fabric of her shirt. Kate smiles, the memory of Castle's joy at finding out he was going to be a grandfather washing over her. He'd worn the shirt Alexis had given him - a blue tee made to look like his police vest with a bold line drawn through the 'Writer' and 'Grandpa' scribbled underneath in child's handwriting - for a solid week before Kate had peeled it off of him, kissing his cheek when she told him he smelled.

"Just a minute," Kate says, gripping Alexis' hand tightly. "I just need another minute."

"Okay," Alexis says, too much understanding in her voice. She's no more ready for this than Kate. "Do you want me to -"

"Stay." Kate shakes their joined hands, tugging the young woman closer. "Please."

Alexis nods and Kate turns her face back toward the beach, watching the moonlight dance across the surface of the water. She's always loved the ocean. It makes her feel both tiny and powerful, reminds her of her place in the universe. Some of her favorite memories are tied to the water; picking up seashells and hermit crabs with her mom, getting her first kiss underneath a rickety old pier, stretching out on a towel with the sun beating down on her skin and a book clutched in her hands. Standing on this spot and listening to Castle profess his love for her, his eyes shimmering with tears when she recited her vows, a simple speech she'd fretted over for weeks. She began her life as his wife here.

It's only right that she end it here as well.

Eyes trained on the water, she takes a deep breath. "I'm ready."

Alexis whispers to her husband and Kate watches him jog quickly across the beach, giving the go ahead to the waiting men. He makes it back to them just as the first rocket takes off, exploding over the water in a flash of brilliant white sparks. A weak laugh floats in her chest as the fireworks continue, colorful and loud. Beautiful.

Oh, he would have _loved_ this.

She'd known this was coming. They all had. Ever since that terrible day three months before when he'd gone to the doctor with a persistent headache and left with a death sentence. Three months. Three months to try to squeeze in a lifetime of love. Three months to make as many happy memories as possible.

Three months to watch him die.

Castle had made peace with it surprisingly quickly. He'd held her while she sobbed, her throat raw from railing about the injustice of it. He told her that he didn't want to focus on how unfair it was. All he wanted was to spend his time, however long it was, with his family. He wanted the end of his life to be filled with love, not anger and regrets. Kate had done her best. She'd taken a leave of absence from the precinct and followed him wherever he wanted to go. They travelled, stopping in tourist traps and tiny villages, taking pictures and buying silly souvenirs. She has a drawer full of tiny spoons, each one emblazoned with the name of a city they'd visited. He'd laughed when she questioned why he had picked tiny spoons as his souvenir of choice.

"Why not?" He'd asked, pulling her in for a kiss in the middle of a busy street in London.

They'd come to the Hamptons two weeks ago, his body failing but his spirit still as vibrant as ever. He didn't want to die in a hospital. He wanted to leave his life the same way he lived it, on his terms.

She'd known that morning when they woke up. She'd known it was the end as she helped him shuffle out onto the back porch and settle into a chaise. With shaky fingers he'd tugged her down next to him, holding her close as the sun crested over the water. She'd closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, listening to his shallow breaths and the slow beat of his heart.

Until they stopped.

He'd told her early on that he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes shot off into space. Fireworks were as close as they could get. He'd sighed like a child when she'd told him, eyes sparkling as he'd pulled his lips down into a mock pout. "Fine," he'd said, huffing. "If that's the best you can do for a dying man's last wish then I guess I'll take it."

They'd held a memorial service for him in the city earlier in the week, something for his friends and colleagues. Patterson had given the eulogy while Ryan and Esposito stood guard on either side of the urn. Kate had sat silently through it, Lanie on one side and Alexis on the other, her eyes trained on the framed picture sitting next to the silver urn. Alexis had chosen it, a candid shot from their wedding day; Castle standing in profile on the beach, pants cuffed around his calves and shoes dangling from two fingers, staring out over the water, his lips tilted up in a secret smile. It's her favorite picture of him and she's carried the frame with her all week, tracing her fingers over the the strong lines of his cheek and the curve of his smile.

Her knees give out halfway through the fireworks and she sinks down to the grass, legs pulled up under her body. Alexis struggles to sit down next to her, her husband's steady hands helping to control her descent. Kate wraps her arms around the young woman and they rock slowly back and forth, watching the final dramatic performance from the man they both loved.


	41. Chapter 41

This is utterly pointless but I couldn't sleep so here we are.

* * *

Her jaw cracks when she yawns and he shakes his head. She's been fighting it for the last fifty miles, yawning and scrubbing at her face like a child, and while he thinks it's utterly adorable, he'd rather she get the sleep she so obviously needs.

"Just go to sleep."

"The point of a cross country trip is to see the country," she says, her voice tired and slow. "Can't do that if I'm passed out against the window."

Castle laughs, glancing over at her briefly before focusing back on the road. "Kate, we just drove across an _eighteen mile_ bridge surrounded by nothing but swamps and an extremely gross river. Amber waves of grain it was not."

"I liked that bridge. It had a good name."

"Okay, I'll give you that. Louisianians do have a certain penchant for colorful names."

"Exactly," Kate says, smiling over at him while she unconsciously rubs tiny circles on the back of his hand with the side of her thumb. He loves it when she does that, finds it soothing and reassuring, an active extension of a passive connection. "How could I ever have forgiven myself for sleeping across the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge? Plus we both know you would have woken me up when we passed that exit for Butte La Rose."

He nods, conceding. "Probably."

The air conditioning blows loudly through the vents in a valiant attempt to combat the blistering three digit temperature. He can see the heat rising up from the road, a haze that shimmers in the fiery orange light of the setting sun. Shit, the south is _hot_. He'd always known it in an abstract sort of way but the reality of it shocks him. Walking outside and feeling it slam into his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs and immediately pulling moisture up on his skin; the air heavy and damp, unmoving and unforgiving. He dreads the next time they have to stop for gas.

Cruise control keeps their speed steady and he takes the opportunity to relax a little, knee pulled up and wrist hooked over the wheel as he steers lazily. A truck flies past and the sun catches on the rear window, a blinding flash that has him squinting and spitting out a whispered curse. Driving west in the late afternoon really was one of his dumber ideas but there is no way he's admitting that to her.

The circles on his hand stop and he risks a glance over at her. Her bare feet are propped up on the dash, the blue polish on her toes sparkling in the dying light, and Castle lets his eyes trail greedily up the long, exposed expanse of her legs, resolving to convince her to wear shorts more often. Her body slumps against the door, cheek cradled in the taut sling of her seat belt, sunglasses slightly askew.

He adores vacation Kate. Loves how relaxed and comfortable she is. How she lets her muscles go loose and and the tension drain away. She insists on playing the tourist, snapping pictures of them in front of various landmarks and buying ridiculous souvenirs. She's young and uninhibited on vacation, her face free of makeup and hair pulled up into a messy bun as she drags him around by the hand. This is technically a work trip for him but Kate hasn't let it dampen her spirit. She just kisses him on the cheek before the signings and then heads out to explore on her own, flip flops slapping noisily as she goes.

"Stop staring at me and watch the road, Castle."

He grins and focuses back on the highway stretching out in front of them."I can do both."

"Not if you don't want us to die in the middle a swamp."

"We're past the swamps. Just lots of fields now. Though I suppose we don't want to die in the middle of one of those either."

"This is why I don't let you drive."

"You know it turns you on to see me behind the wheel. Can't keep your hands to yourself." He waggles his eyebrows. "Or your mouth."

Kate huffs, rolling her head to look at him as she pulls her hand from his and crosses her arms over her chest. "I was drunk."

"You weren't _that_ drunk."

"Drunk enough to think that performing oral sex in a moving vehicle was a good idea."

"You'd prefer oral sex in a stationary vehicle then? Because there's a rest stop coming up."

"Castle."

He smiles, reaching over to palm her thigh. "Well, drunk or not, I enjoyed it," he says, the still fresh memories flickering across his mind. He'd enjoyed it quite a lot.

"I did too," she smiles, unfolding her arms and hooking her fingers around the side of his hand. "And so did that trucker who blew his horn at us in the middle of it."

Castle barks out a laugh, his knee hitting the bottom of the steering wheel as he jerks. "Gives new meaning to The Big Easy."

Kate yawns again, her body sagging lower in the seat. "Shut up."

"Take a nap," he implores, squeezing her thigh. "You need the rest after the last couple of days." She'd _really _enjoyed New Orleans.

Finally giving in, she hits the button to recline the back of her seat and pulls her feet off the dash. She twists toward him and curls herself onto the seat, cradling his hand against her stomach. "Wake me up when we get to Texas. I want to take a picture of that big star."

"I will," Castle promises, running the back of his index finger over the soft cotton of her tank top. "Now sleep."

Leaning forward, she lands a sloppy kiss on his forearm. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Pressing a button on the steering wheel, he scans through the radio stations until he finds one he likes. Willie Nelson's voice filters softly through the speakers and he can't help but feel a little like a cowboy, riding off into the sunset with a beautiful woman by his side.

He's totally buying a hat when they get to Texas.


End file.
